Come Together
by Magnira
Summary: Four girls cannot go unnoticed by the mutant world for long. 2 years post-X3. OCs.
1. Maggie

**A/N: This is my first fanfic. I hope you like it.**

**Summary:**** Four sophomores at Whitman High, Massachusetts are mutants. All of them are VERY different from each other, but all keep their powers a secret, but they cannot go unnoticed for long. Takes place two years after X3.**

**The X-Men will turn up, but they aren't a major part of the story. There may be a little romance, but not much. That's not the point. Please be patient, though, there will be some action eventually. I have to introduce the characters first, though.**

**Constructive criticism is welcome. Please, point out any mistakes in spelling and grammar, consistency, format, and anything else like the pace or character development or whatever.**

Prologue

"Logan, you may want to check this out." The girl sitting at Cerebro's control panel, wearing the metal helmet tapped a key and the enormous screen changed, zooming dizzyingly up on a section of northeastern United States.

"What?" A voice growled from behind her.

"There." She pointed at a tight cluster of four red dots with one dark-pink-nailed finger.

"What're those? Mutants? Is that supposed to be surprising or something?" Logan raised an eyebrow, yet to be impressed.

"It's a potential problem. They're high-school age kids who have managed to keep a low profile, but the addition of a fourth to their area may set off the balance. We'll have to keep an eye on them in case they decide to cause trouble. If they do we could send a team down to investigate, maybe recruit."

He wasn't convinced. "Uh, okay. Just keep tabs on them if you're sure worth it." He paused. "What can they do?"

"I can't tell with this thing." She tapped the helmet. "I'd have to see them."

Logan narrowed his eyes. Maybe, if she really was convinced . . . nah. Nothing interesting was happening yet. He wished it would. Things had been a little too slow as of late.

Chapter 1

Maggie

Someone in homeroom mentioned there was a new girl. I couldn't have cared less. The only thing mildly interesting was that she had come from Australia. That was a long way away, sure. She must've had an accent or something but whatever. I thought she wouldn't be in any of my classes, anyway, that's what the chances were. Even if she was, it could never affect _me._

But then again, my life had stopped caring about what was normal a while ago. But that's another story.

_This_ story began when I walked into my first-period honors English class. I suppressed a sigh as I noticed that Ms. Lawrence had changed the seating arrangement. I had _liked_ my seat. I strutted to the front of the room with a detached look on my face. Glancing at the seating chart, I saw my named scrawled in a square at the back of the room. I didn't even read the name of my new buddy. I would find out soon enough anyway. Probably some English nerd, a nobody with no name I'd ever heard.

I put my binder down and sat lazily in my seat, playing with my long, almost-black hair in a bored sort of way. I didn't see anyone remotely interesting sitting near me. I held back another sigh.

Just then the door opened and an unfamiliar blonde girl walked in. Her hair was shoulder length and the top was pulled back into a ponytail. She shyly handed a note to the teacher, who said something reassuring and pointed to the back of the room. Uh-oh. Looks like the Aussie was my new English buddy. The blonde shuffled down the aisle. I gave a dazzling, warm, friendly smile and stood up to let her reach her seat. She smiled shyly at me and nodded and shyly put her binders down. I smiled even brighter as I sat down.

"Hi! I'm Maggie. Are you new?" Duh, but I was trying to seem nice.

"Yeah. I'm Hope." Definitely Australian and very shy.

I nodded. "Welcome to Whitman High. I hope you like it here." I said in an identical Australian accent.

"Thanks." She blinked. "Hey!"

I grinned. "I'm good at mimicking. Sorry. Couldn't resist. So, what classes do you have today?" I'd dropped the accent.

She glanced down at the slip of paper clutched in her hand. "Er, normal math . . . bio . . . French . . . creative writing honors and honors World History."

"Cool. I'm in honors history too but it looks like you have it after lunch. Mine's right before."

"Really? How's the teacher?"

"Mr. Williams? He's good; I like him. Sometimes you gotta be patient because he's pretty scatterbrained, but he doesn't test much and he's very nice. He's got the _funniest_ mannerisms though. He'll give these long heartfelt speeches while looking at the ground, then glance up from under his bushy eyebrows . . . you'll see. There was this one time when we were watching this movie on Magellan, you know, the explorer, and he was trying to make us understand how absolutely _monumental_ his journey was, and how _amazing_ it must have been for those crew members, you know? I mean they were going to the ends of the earth, to lands never seen, never _imagined_ by Europeans, with only a fraction of a chance that they would return. Almost like space travel! ―"

"Maggie! _Maggie! _Maaaaaaaaaaggggieeeee . . ."

"Huh?" David, standing in the isle, was trying to get my attention. "Oh! sorry . . ."

"Here." He handed Hope and I a couple sheets of pink paper. I groaned as I glanced at it. It was an assignment sheet for our next essay.

"No! I'm not even _close_ to finishing that damn book! I've been trying to finish that huge biology project Mrs. Myer assigned last week. Man this workload is going to kill me. Have you read _The House of the Seven Gables_?" I turned to Hope.

She nodded. "It's not _that_ long, though . . ."

"Yeah I know but the language is so _dense._ I have to like break down every single sentence and look up every other word in the dictionary. It's insane. And the pages are all yellowy and the type is thick and solid and tiny! I mean, _really?_ It smells funny too! Oh well. It's just _karma,_ I guess. Man, I must have been bad in a past life. But I shouldn't dwell on that, should I? By the way, your shirt is so cute, where'd you get it?" It _was. _Light green with white palm trees on it, which went nicely with her white flip-flops and dark jeans. I was wearing an orange t-shirt with tiny sleeves and a big scoop neck over a pink cami, with white knee-length shorts and my favorite orange ballet flats with the little bows on them. Guess what my favorite colors are.

She glanced down and shrugged. "Some shop back home. I don't think there's any over here."

"Cool. There's this great mall a few towns over with a gigantic movie theater and like every store you could ever want, so I thought I might apply for a job there sometime, maybe, if I need to . . ."

I continued to babble on like that for a while. We were supposed to be coming up with plans for our essay, which I sort of began, but I didn't really care. I wasn't even sure what the essay was supposed to be about, but I would fix that later.

"Eh, you guys can pack up now. Have a nice day!" Ms. Lawrence waved at the door.

I stood up gracefully and picked up my stuff. I flashed one last cheery smile at Hope as I swept out the door.

****

The rest of the day was uneventful. As usual, I went to class, took notes, and talked to friends. Three periods later I found myself walking down the hall to lunch with my friends Charlotte and Eva. Charlotte had this gorgeous long, white-blonde hair that she died with pink streaks and wore in two cute braids, and her face was a spatter of freckles beneath two bright blue eyes. She's a total animal lover. Sometimes I wished I got freckles because they were so cute, but I guess I was lucky that I tanned a nice golden color without burning. Eva was a dancer, very graceful, and had shiny brown hair that reached her shoulders, but she usually wore it up in a messy bun. She was very nice to _everyone_. All the time, no matter what. I often wondered how she did. We chatted absent-mindedly about guys and clothes and the horrible workload and guys and movies and not much else. (For the record, I'm not really that shallow.)

Walking over to our table, I noticed Hope was sitting alone a few tables over. Poor girl, but it's not like I could do anything about it. My table was perfectly full and I wasn't going to leave my spot. The seats at my table are prized and do not come easy. But wait . . . someone was going over to her. Who was that? The red-headed jock . . . Alexa? Yeah. That was her name. Hmm. She was talking to Hope, then handed her a couple dollars. She must've forgotten money. Hope got up and headed toward the lunch line. A few seconds later, Alexa stood up and headed back to her table with her athletic friends.

"Hey, Maggie, you doing anything Friday?" I turned around on my stool to see Evan sitting directly behind me. See, he and his friends are the popular boys, generally hockey and football players, who are friends with my group of girls. We did everything together as a group. Evan had a major crush on me, everyone knew it, but I wasn't ready to give in just yet. Sure, he was nice, and _very _cute, but I liked keeping him waiting. Besides, it gave all the other losers hope.

"Maybe." I gave a little half-smile. "Why?"

"Do you want to go see a movie or something with me?" Man, was he working those blue eyes! Maybe now was the time I finally gave in and went out with him.

"Let me think about it." Maybe not. I don't know what was stopping me. Evan was a great guy and all, why wasn't I jumping at the opportunity? Almost every girl in the school would _kill_ to have Evan Goodwin begging them for a date. It's not like I had any excuses. Not anymore. I looked into his sad blue eyes again and that decided it. "Okay, Evan. You win! I'll go."

He smiled a huge, brilliant smile. "Thanks, Mags. I'll call you later."

I smiled back.

******

Now for _that_ story.

_LAST SEPTEMBER_

I was sitting alone on the bus on the way home when it happened. I glanced out the window at the bright, clear late September sun and suddenly I felt like my head was being shattered into a million pieces. Pain, like knives or broken glass, was tearing at my temples. I couldn't see, I couldn't think, I closed my eyes and a million colors seemed to bloom in the dark. I pressed my fingers to my head and the sharpness turned to a burning throb, like someone had set my brain on fire. I wanted to scream, to run, to throw off this _pain_, but there was nothing I could do. I felt the bus shudder and hiss to a stop.

Damn. I had to get off. I opened my eyes and the world swam around me. I blinked a few times and stood up. I forced myself to take one step after another, every motion rattling through me, causing the fire in my head to flare up. I managed to get off the bus and cross the street. I would have to walk up my long driveway all the way to my house.

The bus drove away.

I looked around blearily for _somewhere_ I could stop, to rest perhaps, until the fire went away. The town forest here reached the road and lined the driveway to my house for a bit. It was in there that I staggered, trying to fight back the flames that threatened to incinerate my mind. I felt a sudden cold on my foot. Looking down, I could see a glittering movement. I had stepped in a stream. I knelt down and slashed some water on my face, but that only made my face cold. It was still burning inside my head.

Another throb of knives tore at my head, cutting me, causing me to bleed flame. I felt a tear roll from my eye, but I didn't feel it fall down my face. Opening my eyes a fraction, I saw a smudge of stream curling off my face. Confused, I touched my skin. It didn't feel wet anymore. In fact, it felt _hot._ Burning. Like my blood was on fire, not just my head anymore. I screamed and fell to the forest floor, writhing in the dead leaves and moss. I didn't even care about ruining my clothes.

The headache subsided a little, leaving my skin burning. I looked down at my body and screamed again. My clothes were charred and smoking. This couldn't be just some . . . sickness. No, this was more. I rolled over and fell into the brook, knowing I would hear the hiss of steam, but still terrified. Sure enough, as the cool water hit me a cloud of steam rose into the air.

My skin seemed to cool off a little bit. I stood up as best as I could. _Its okay,_ I told myself. _Everything is alright. The pain is going to go away and you can sneak home, take a shower, and change. _I could see clearly now. That was a good sign.

The heat flared up again, but this time it was in my palms. I raised my hands to my face but I couldn't see anything. The heat was there, albeit less intense, but it wasn't painful anymore. I shook them, hoping to shake off strange feeling.

Then I jumped back suddenly as a burst of fire appeared in the air, right in front of my hands. _Did _I_ do that?_ How else would it have happened? But how could I have done it? Did it really happen? I tentatively waved my right hand around. Nothing. I shoved it in front of me, hard and fast. I yelped as a streak of flame erupted from my hand, larger than before. Curious, I did a couple of quick punches with alternating fist. Each time, my hands emitted flourishes of flame, apparently unsupported by any form of fuel other than my will.

I then reached my hand out, palm upwards, holding very still. I then imagined the terrible heat I had felt earlier, and focused it into my hand. A moment later, it burst into flame. I couldn't feel the fire as I should. My skin didn't blacken and shrivel and cause me unimaginable pain. No, instead I felt heat in my skin, a pleasant sort of heat that I felt _control _of.

I closed my fist and, sadly, let the flame go out. I sighed. Things were going to be a bit different for me now.

_I'm a mutant, aren't I?_


	2. Alexa

**A/N: Here it is! The appearance of my second character (or third?). This is a bit of an exercise in **_**voice**_** for me, so any pointers in that department would be greatly appreciated.**

**Thanks to Syril Silverleaf for the great review and first story alert subscription (I think? I'm very new to this)**

**. . . And I just want to apologize for the lame, generic title, but I didn't have any good ideas so I was just looking through my iTunes library for ideas and this one seemed to fit.**

Chapter 2

Alexa

"Hey, Alexa! Did you hear about the new girl?" That was my best friend Danielle. Her locker was two over from mine.

"A new girl? Is she in our grade?"

"Yeah! She's in my first-period English. She's from AUSTRALIA. Weird, huh? I've never met anyone who's moved from there. She was like really shy but Maggie Russo was sitting next to her, so she barely had to open her mouth. She's very pretty, though. Blonde. Guys will be all over her."

"Hmm. Maybe she'll be in one of my classes. Honors English? She must be smart. Maybe not, then."

"Hey, you're smart!"

"I guess. See you at lunch."

***

I didn't give the new girl a second thought until she showed up in my math class. I was smart in a normal sort of way, taking the class below honors, but fourth from the very top. See, math isn't really my thing, but I still get good grades, but by pure _effort. _I am one of those people who _must_ try their best at everything. I can't help it.

"Why don't you sit over there, next to Sarah?"

I looked up. Sure enough, the blonde Australian chick was crossing in front of the room, over to the isle by the window, heading for the empty desk next to Sarah Yang, who sat in front of me. She didn't look at anyone's face as she quietly set down her stuff. She _was_ very shy. I decided to introduce myself to make her feel more comfortable.

"Hi." She turned around in her seat.

"Hello . . ." She said softly.

"I'm Alexa. What's your name?"

"I'm Hope."

"I just wanted to say welcome."

"Thanks."

"Hey if you have any questions or need any help, just talk to me, 'kay?"

The new girl, Hope, raised her head and her gray-green eyes met mine. She flashed a shy but real smile. "Thanks. I'll remember that." She was telling the truth.

She turned around when the teacher went to the front of the room. I opened my binder and took out a sheet of fresh notepaper and prepared for a boring session of note-taking.

***

I was one of the first out the door when math let out. I turned the corner and put my stuff in my locker, grabbing a few dollars from my backpack. I met up with Danielle as she escaped biology and we headed to lunch together. In the cafeteria I grabbed a slice of pizza and a sports drink. (I am addicted to the stuff.) Walking over to my usual table, I noticed someone sitting alone at the other end of the room. I put my tray down and told Danielle to wait for me. I went over and sat next to Hope at her empty table. She didn't even have a lunch tray.

"You aren't getting any lunch?" I said brightly.

"No."

"Why not?"

"I don't have any money. I forgot."

"Here." I put two dollars in her hand. "Pay me back when you can. If you want you can sit at my table."

Hope looked at me with surprise. "Wow. Hey, thanks. I'm pay you pack later." She got up and walked toward the lunch line. I watched her for a moment before heading back to my table. When I got back, Danielle immediately began discussing her plans for the upcoming lacrosse tournament. I joined in, feeding her enthusiasm. It was going to be a big weekend, with at least seven games between Friday afternoon, Saturday, and Sunday. We were going to New York and staying in adjacent hotel rooms. We thought we might head into New York City Monday when we finished our last game and go shopping or something. I got caught up in anticipation and the hour-long lunch period flew by.

As I left I dumped my trash in the bins by the exit. Scanning the crowd, I realized that Hope never came to sit with us. I sighed. Oh well. I got points for trying, didn't I?

***

_Eeeeeeeeeeeep._

That was the bell for the end of the day. Yes! I stuffed my notebook and assignment sheet in my backpack and I was out of the door of the library in the blink of an eye. Once outside I swung around the side of the building, out of sight, and then tightened the shoulder straps on my bag.

I was practically bouncing with energy, my legs aching and my head buzzing. I took a deep breath and began running. I started slow, going at maybe twenty mph for a second before really taking off. The world became a blur as I approached top speed. I followed the road, keeping to the sidewalk. Buildings, cars, and trees flashed by me. Intersection, town center, intersection, forest, intersection, park. I dropped my bag on the front porch of my house a few seconds later. Yeah, my mom would wonder what I was doing home so early, but she wasn't often home when I was supposed to get home or when I actually did. No one ever noticed me running, either, just a blur, so fast that it might as well not have existed.

Yeah, that's right. No one has ever seen me run, REALLY run, as fast as I can. Why? Because I don't know what would happen if they did. Being kicked off my sports teams for playing 'juiced' would be the least of my worries. It wasn't the speed that would scare them – my friends, my family, everyone I know . . .

I am a mutant. I know how the world feels about mutants.

I felt the changes first last summer, when I was fifteen. I'd take jogs around the park, but they wouldn't tire me out. I'd run farther and farther, but I would complete them faster and faster, and I'd hardly lose my breath. Then one day I decided to sprint, to run as fast as I could for as far and long as I could.

I ended up three states over, in Ohio. I managed to find my way back along the highway, following the signs. The whole trip took under an hour, about twenty-five minutes there, and thirty-five back because I took the highway, which is longer, and I was more tired. The entire time I was scared out of my mind, for several reasons. One, because I was afraid I would get lost, two, because I could get hit by a car or something and my parents would wonder why I was found dead ten hours (by car_) _from home, three because it is certainly not normal for a fifteen-year-old girl to be able to break the sound barrier. It meant I was a mutant, and the world hates mutants. What would my family think? My friends? Would I be arrested? Run out of town by a torch-and-pitchforking mob?

Well, no. Nothing's changed, really. I've told no one. The only difference is that I've had to really hold myself back in sports. To quote a favorite character from a movie, I'm "only the best by a little bit." Besides, my conscience is very strong. Using my enhanced abilities to dominate would be cheating. I couldn't live with myself if I was a cheater. Winning wouldn't have any meaning for me.

Holding the energy in can be painful at times. My muscles ache and my head buzzes and I can't sit still. School and car trips are murder, but I've learned to deal. I wake up an hour before school starts and take a _long_ run before getting ready (rather quickly) for school and running to school. After school I take another run. I don't usually go as far as Ohio, but just take a couple laps of the county at top speed, which, by the way, I've clocked at almost 1,200 miles per hour, which I can only maintain for maybe twenty minutes.

Those poor state troopers must've wondered what was up with their radar guns.

****

**A/N: Sorry this chapter's a little short. And boring. But I do have to introduce the characters before I go anywhere with some sort of plot. Please review! If you've stuck with me far enough to read this note, then at least let me know what you think.**

**Thanks!**

**Magnira**


	3. Marielle, Part 1

**A/N: Quick note: I'm leaving for Europe in 30 minutes so I'll give you what I managed to get ready.**

Chapter 3

Marielle, Part 1

"Marielle?"

"Yeah?"

"Would you kindly show Hope to her classes today?" I hated it when Mr. Lamark phrased direct orders like questions, giving the illusion of free choice.

"Um, sure. No problem."

It was just my luck that he had turned to the first locker outside his first-period room for a guide for the new girl. Of course it had to be me. That man thought I was capable student and, as a result, I found myself edging through empty halls, trying to teach the practically mute blonde how to remember her way through the maze of dull gray walls of lockers and identical corridors. It was an exasperating chore that I had no business doing. I hate Mr. Lamark.

Her first class was honors English. I stopped outside the door. "Here. I pity you."

She shrugged. "I like it."

"I don't." I turned down that class despite what my teachers recommended in eighth and ninth grade. I guess I'm more a left-brain person. Oh well. "Have fun. I'll catch you by your locker later if you need more help finding your way around, but that map should help. A little. 'Kay? Bye." I spun around and made my way, quickly, to the other end of the school where I had honors chemistry.

****

The rest of the day passed in a similar manner, pointing that girl to every single one of her mundane classes. For every fifteen words I said in explanation of our school's system, I got approximately one word in response, if I was lucky, and I wasn't known for being talkative. What was her problem? She was being shyer than was healthy. I was happy to see that I wasn't in any of her classes, and when it came to lunch I didn't have to sit with her either, but I didn't have to totally abandon her.

"Aaaaaand here is the lunch room." I stopped outside the large glass doors.

"You aren't coming?" She had spoken so little, and yet her Australian accent had gotten annoying already.

"Nah. I have uh, environmental science." She raised an eyebrow but didn't comment before heading into the lunch room. I took a moment to appreciate that. Maybe she wasn't so irritating after all.

I smiled a brief, though real smile before heading back down the now-empty hall. I don't know if she saw it, but it didn't matter.

When I got to class, the teacher was busy with something on his laptop. I took a moment to get my things in order at my seat at the counter in the back corner, getting out some paper and a pencil because it looked like we were watching a movie today. The projection screen was pulled down and the projector's little yellow light was on, as opposed to the red one, and to cap it off all the shades were pulled down. Mr. Lonsdale slowly stood up, getting in a final few taps on his keyboard before raising his head to address the class.

"Okay, class, today I will be showing a short film on climate change that will serve as an introduction to our final unit. I will ask you to take some notes, but keep in mind that this video will only touch on topics that will be discussed in more detail in the coming weeks. I would like each of you to pay particular attention to . . ."

I flicked my wrist at the heavy and very much open door at the opposite end of the room.

_BAM!_ The door swung shut, hard and fast. Breaking the narrow glass window would have been a nice touch, but I was out of luck.

The whole class jumped at the abrupt noise. Best of all was the look on Mr. Lonsdale's face as he stood there, blinking. Then, very suddenly, he went over to the door, yanked it open, and looked both ways down the hall. It was empty. He shut the door carefully before turning to his class of intelligent, mature juniors, senior, and one sophomore.

He opened his mouth, about to say something, and paused, thinking. He took another breath before saying, "That wasn't any of you, was it?" He got a few no's and shaking heads. "That's what I thought. It couldn't have been the wind, could it?"

"The windows're shut." Someone called out.

He nodded, and then raised his bushy eyebrows with a grin, "So it's a mystery. Perhaps we have a resident ghost." That got a few giggles. This was an advanced science class.

He flicked off the lights and grabbed the projector's remote from his desk, pressing the play button. The little light turned green and the screen blue. As the dramatic music began, I saw him sit back in his desk chair. In the thin light from his computer screen, I saw him glance back at the door, a look of utter confusion on his face.

In the safety of darkness, I burst into a silent fit of laughter.

****

In French I amused myself by rearranging the paraphernalia on my teacher's desk. There was a set of translations that we were supposed to be doing but I had finished them before everyone. Checking to make sure that nobody was watching, I rolled my eyes when I saw all the guys around me focused on the Gorgeous and Popular Maggie Russo, who sat a couple seats over. Her mother was Asian and she spoke like ten languages, which was about all she was good for. She was chatting animatedly with just about everyone sitting around her. It made me sick to my stomach.

I turned back to my much more productive activity: making the teacher chase her pen. Every time she set down a quiz packet to enter a grade on her computer, I made her little sparkly pink pen move about a foot from where she had set it down. It went from one side of the keyboard to the other, from the stack of graded papers to the stack of ungraded papers, and from right next to her left hand to her pencil cup. The first few times she seemed to convince herself that she had misplaced it or forgotten where she had set it down, but by the fourth or fifth she definitely suspected something was up. I saw her glance around but no one sat near enough to her desk to pull something off. I thought that would be silly because she would have mot certainly seen if someone had been sneaking around her desk and moving her correction pen, failing eyesight or not.

**

I think by now you've realized that I'm not quite normal. I sure hope you have, because otherwise you are stupid. I have the ability to move objects with my mind. The technical term is telekinesis or psychokinesis, from the Greek "psyche," meaning mind, and "kinesis," meaning motion, therefore "motion from the mind." "Telekinesis" is "motion from a distance."

I'm a mutant. Within my DNA is a mutated gene that affects my mental connection with matter around me, resulting in my powers. Everyone says that this difference in DNA sets mutants apart from humans, so far apart that they can't even be called mutants. I don't know why, but I think I like the idea of not being considered human.

I also wonder if the same so-called "x-gene" touched my mind in other ways. I mean, I've always know my mind works on a level somewhat above most people, but it could've been an early manifestation of my mutation, because my telekinesis only appeared about a year ago, when I was fifteen.

Just my luck that it was at a party.


	4. Marielle, Part 2

**A/N: Yay! Part 2 is here!!! It's 2,151 words and considerably longer than part 1. I think I'm now going to go back and fix a few little things in the last three chapters.**

**Thanks to Syril Silverleaf for helping me figure out how she should discover her powers.**

**Please if you read this take the time to write a quick review! It doesn't have to be much just tell me what you think!!!!!**

**I NEED REVIEWS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!**

Chapter 4

Marielle, Part 2

Last year, Maggie threw a party a month or so before the end of the school year to celebrate

Yeah, _that_ Maddie. Miss Popular herself.

I was surprised that I was invited, but she did invite a whole ton of people, just about everyone who wasn't a _total_ loser. So that's why I found myself at the gate to her yard at the top of a long driveway in a silky gray dress. It was a favorite of mine, the skirt having a creased pleat to it and tied with a light pink sash. I called it my accordion dress. I bought it in France and my mom had helped add the sash, which I preferred to this weird belt of rhinestones that it had come with. Rather ironically, I had done my gold-brown hair up in two French braided pigtails. My hair wasn't very long, about an inch from touching my shoulders, so it was a little bit of a challenge, but nothing copious amounts of hairspray wouldn't fix.

I peered around the side of the house. Lights glittered in the trees and music thumped from a sound system. I cautiously unlatched the gate and made my way around the side of the house to join everyone else. I stopped in my tracks when I saw the full extent of the party. I was standing at the top of a heavily landscaped slope of a yard that took up what looked like over an acre of land, and it was crawling with people. It looked like about three hundred of the five hundred kids in my class had made it.

The hill was cut into giant step-shapes, and covered in fountains and perfectly manicured ornamental shrubs and trees. The largest level area, about halfway down, was taken up by a shining pool, beautifully lit from within and shedding a wavering, eerie turquoise light on the people clustering around tables of refreshments lining the pool deck. No one was swimming; it was not yet warm enough. The tall, old trees around the edge of the huge yard were strung with blue and pink and gold lights at impossible heights. It was really quite pretty in the gathering dusk.

Popular, upbeat music blared from speakers placed at strategic, subtle locations throughout the area. No one was really dancing, but some were nodding to the beat or muttering along to the lyrics.

No one really acknowledged me as I made my way down to the far edge of the stone patio around the pool. I didn't care. I grabbed a cookie and leaned against a large, tastefully planted granite boulder. Looking around, I catalogued faces, searching for someone I knew. It would be kinda weird to not talk to anyone at such a great party.

A flash of brilliant red-orange caught my eye from across the glowing expanse of water. It was Maggie, wearing a flaming halter top dress with a dangerous neckline and very little back, dark hair done up in an elegant messy bun pinned with gold chopstick thingies. I only saw her for a moment before she was engulfed by a dense crowd of her friends and hopefuls, including her then-boyfriend Marc Durving. He was a decent-looking football jock and was absurdly huge. I knew a lot of girls who were envious, but honestly I didn't get why he was so great. I bet he didn't have an ounce of intelligence in his thick skull.

Scanning the surrounding crowd, I noticed someone else. Chase Santos of the soccer team was hanging with a few of his buddies a little ways away from Maggie's crowd. He was wearing a dark red dress shirt, which looked very hot with his darkly tanned skin and dark spiky hair. Just then he laughed at something his friend said, white teeth flashing and brown eyes sparkling, lighting up his face, and I got a strong flutter in my chest. I wanted him bad. I wanted him to be near me, for him to talk to me, maybe even like me. I wanted his beautiful face and his laughter and that tiniest hint of an accent and how he ducked his head when he got shy. I really hated that stupid fluttering.

But then, as I was looking at him, and enjoying it, he moved very suddenly and strangely. As if gripped by invisible hangs by the hair and shoulders, his slight frame was jerked hard in my direction. My mouth opened in horror as I saw the event in slow motion. His feet stumbled, his hands searching wildly for a grip as his head and shoulders were tugged back and then there was nothing beneath his feet and he fell, agonizingly slowly, into the pool.

Cries of surprise, then laughter rang out from the party guests as a plume of brilliant, glowing crystal shards of chlorinated, frigid water was propelled into the air in a sparkling turquoise column. It hung there, suspended for a moment, before crashing down on the water's surface and the pool deck. The air sang with the sudden, ragged splatter of the plump droplets breaking on the stone and slapping the water.

Chase broke the surface of the water, gasping and spluttering, his short hair flattened, his shirt blazing around the edges from the pool lights as he treaded water. He wiped the water from his face and said something to his friends about his clumsiness, about a slippery deck, about the splash. They laughed and pulled him easily from the water, his clothes dark and heavy, gushing water on an already damp deck. Someone handed him a towel.

Over the fluffy pink cotton, a pair of chocolate brown eyes glanced in my direction. I froze as they caught my dark grey gaze directly. Slowly, I raised an eyebrow and my mouth curled into a tiny smirk. To the casual observer it would look like I was laughing at his unexpected bath, amused.

But inside I was totally freaking out.

He couldn't have slipped; the deck had been bone dry. He wasn't the least bit clumsy. He couldn't have tripped from a standstill, let alone fallen into a pool several feet away. It wasn't possible unless he had done that purposefully, but I highly doubted that. There was no reason.

My head was aching.

When Chase disappeared from view by the crowd I turned and walked away into the shadowy sections of the garden alone. I leaned up against the trunk of a large white pine, on the far side where nobody would bother to find me or see my face.

I was scared by what just happened, like seriously rattled. You see, as of recently, I've been noticing things. What kind of things? Small things, for sure. So small that I usually can convince myself that they never happened or I'm just imagining things or it's just a coincidence. I rationalize.

Like there was this one time that I was eyeing a pair of shoes at the mall. They were really cute, right? Silver and pink plaid ballet flats that would go great with this new shirt I got, but I wasn't going to buy them. I turned to tell my friend what I thought of the pair she was trying on, and when I looked back, the shoes were sitting on the other end of the bench that I was on. I figured that someone had just set them down and had gone to get an employee's help.

See? Things like that. Objects I feel a desire for kept . . . showing up a little closer to me. Someone would drop a bag of my favorite candy or, when I lost my phone that one time, it showed up in a place I'd already checked. The reverse was the same. My mom's plate of escargot went flying off the table when we were over at my aunt's and my little brother's slime ball kit kept hiding itself in corners. All these things are dismissible, n'est-ce pas? Like I said, coincidences. Accidents. Nothing related to me, right?

Wrong.

This last incident proved it. I had to have been doing _something_, there was no other explanation.

I had pulled Chase towards me. With my mind. Could that be true?

I told myself that I was crazy. Things like that just don't happen. It's not _possible_.

Is it? Aren't there always news stories about people like this? People born with strange, unusual abilities destroying things, committing crimes, and disrupting society. Mutants. Hated and feared by many people, even hunted down in some cases. And I think I was one of them. I couldn't believe it. I didn't want to. Mutants were supposed to be _different_. They weren't supposed to be _you._

My headache worsened as a wave of panic flooded me. This couldn't be happening. This was not part of the plan. I shook my head in a vain attempt to make the throbbing go away.

It was then I felt it. No, not just _it . . . _I felt _everything._ The trees, the bushes, the ground, even the people partying behind me, despite the dim light, were as plain as day. It almost felt like they were a part of me, almost like an arm or leg. I closed my eyes to shut it out, but that didn't work. Everything was still there. I felt dizzy.

I knelt so I wouldn't tip over, bracing my hands on the ground. I wanted to shake my head again but I was afraid of what I would feel. I held myself like that for a moment and the dizziness seemed to slow down. I opened my eyes again. Everything looked normal.

I had an idea. I reached one hand out tentatively. It felt like invisible fibers spread out from it, connecting it to the objects around me. I looked around, or rather, I felt around with my mind in the fading light, and located a rock the size of a soccer ball about four feet from where I knelt. I twisted my hand a little, tugging on the imaginary fibers attached to it.

It shifted. I jerked my hand and the rock tumbled a few feet. I raised my hand a few inches, willing the rock to do the same. It did. The stone lifted itself six inches into the air, but it was kind of heavy. I released it and it feel to the earth with a dull thud.

Telekinesis. The word sprung into my mind unbidden. That was the term for what I was doing. It was the mutant ability to move things without touching them, using the power of my mind alone. There had been a famous mutant with the same gift. Jean Gray had been all over the news last year. I remembered seeing news clips of her at Alcatraz. She had destroyed the island and everything on it, ripping it apart molecule by molecule, including people. They said she was the most powerful mutant ever born. They said she lost control and gave into pure rage.

I shivered. I couldn't be like that, could I? I looked back at the rock and considered trying to break it. I didn't think I could.

Good. I didn't want to be like her.

I didn't want to stay at the party. I walked unnoticed through the crowds, making my way back up the hill and towards the front gate, being careful not to tug on the fibers. I pulled out my phone and called my mom.

"Hey, mom. It's me."

"Marie? Is everything alright? How is the party?"

"It's great mom. But I've gotten a really bad headache and the crowds and music aren't helping. Can you come pick me up?"

"Bien sûr, chèrie. See you in . . . ten minutes"

"Bye."

I hung up and sat down on the stone steps leading to Maggie's front door and waited. When my mom arrived, I behaved cheerily but slightly disappointed about leaving. She bought it and consoled me, saying there would be other parties, reminding me that I didn't have to leave. But I said no, the headache was bad. I said I didn't think taking Advil would help enough.

When I got home I grabbed an apple from the kitchen and headed upstairs to take a shower, let out my hair, and go to bed, hoping the strangeness that happened at the party was all in my head and I would wake up to a world where none of that had ever happened.

****

When I woke up the next morning, I sat up, blinked, and reached out with my mind. A strange feeling flickered in my chest when I found I still had the strange spatial awareness and uncanny connection to everything around me. I was able to open my dresser drawers with a sweep of my hand. I groaned. Damn. I was a mutant.

But then I thought that it might not be so bad. It's not like I was blue or anything so I would be able to hide these powers.

And hey, it might be kinda fun.


	5. Hope

**A/N: Sorry this took so long to put up but I was determined NOT to split it into two parts. Hope is indeed a mutant but I didn't explain her power flat-out yet. I would very much like to hear your guesses. (The italics are flashbacks.)**

**Thanks to Bright-Eyed Athena for being my Australian advisor. I will have need of your advice in the future as well. If there are any other Australians reading this, I would LOVE to hear your input on how this went. I know Hope is an unusual circumstance so I couldn't really try to write about ordinary Aussie life. She isn't ordinary.**

**Please review!**

Chapter 5

Hope

_I knew this year would be different for me. I mean, every year is different, but this one would be a total new direction for me, in two ways. One was expected. I expected it, the agency expected it, and, for the first time in my life, my new parents expected it._

_I was going to start a normal life in the United States. By normal I mean having loving parents with a solid income in a nice house in the suburbs of Massachusetts. I mean going to an excellent public school with other normal kids with similar lives, where I can learn what I needed to immediately proceed to a fine university after which I could find a respectable job with a steady income by which I could support a family with. These kids I would raise in a practically identical situation and the cycle of normalness would continue._

_I know what you're thinking. Yeah, that's what people aim for, isn't it? Is that the American dream from the history books? Is it really? Because it sure seems like the agency wants it for me. Maybe they are right. It sounds nice, yes? Nice, predictable, but it does sound boring, doesn't it? Yes, not quite dull, but it doesn't exactly leave much room for improvisation._

_For me, I was thrilled to have such a change to such normalcy. You see, this Plan may be . . . unexciting, predictable, conformist and all that, but it is also safe. School-job-family. You see the security in there, don't you? Humans like having such plans. They like knowing what the next step is. They like knowing how to go about, how to think and how to feel. They like structure. And it is exactly this structure that my life has been lacking up to this point, as far as I can remember._

_The second way was considerably less expected._

****

On the first day at my new school, my new parents drove me in so they could check in at the office with me. I told them it wasn't necessary, but I didn't argue too much. They were I all had now. It meant a lot that they wanted to be there as I began school here in the US.

A bespectacled receptionist handed me a few papers and a plastic-spiraled calendar book. "This," she tapped the book, "is your planbook. You will find space to write down your nightly assignments for each class in it. Here is a layout of the school." This was three pages, one for each floor. "I know this is a rather large school. Some of the janitors still get lost." That really gave me confidence. "But I'll see that Mr. Lamark finds you a competent guide, alright?" I nodded. "This is your schedule. If you have any questions, I urge you to come and see me. Okay, the bell won't ring for another five minutes. Mr. Lamark's room is down that hall, there, straight ahead, and on the left. Room number 134. I'll call him and tell him that you'll need a guide. All set? No questions? Alrighty then. Good luck to you and I hope you have a wonderful experience here at Whitman High."

I turned and proceeded down the hall without a word to the lady. I found Mr. Lamark's room and entered. It was a science room, with rows of black counter-tables loaded with microscopes and test tubes. He was sitting at a desk in the front of the room, sifting through student's papers. He looked very much like a science teacher. His hair and short beard were white and his scalp was bare. His eyes were pale behind thick glasses with a large, translucent plastic frame. He wore a short-sleeve, green-checkered shirt.

"Excuse me?" I ventured.

He looked up at the slight sound of my voice. "Ah, hello. You must be Hope."

"Affirmative."

He smiled a genuine, laughing smile. "You are in need of a guide, I take it? Let's see who I can round up." He got up and pushed his chair back and made his way out into the hall. I followed, noting that he was very tall. Peering around at the increasing tide of students around the lockers. "Do you have a locker?" He wondered. I nodded. The receptionist had scribbled a number and a combination in my planbook. I would work on filling it as need in the next few days. "Aha! Here we go. Marielle! Marielle?"

A girl came over to him at the sound of her name. Her hair was shorter than mine, a few inches off her shoulders, and a shiny brown-gold color. Her eyes were large and gray and her nose was covered in a spray of light freckles. She wore a light pink polo shirt, white-and-gray knee length plaid shorts, and pink flip-flops.

"Yeah?" Her face was mostly blank but she seemed a little annoyed. She knew what was coming. I don't think Mr. Lamark was keyed into that, though.

"Would you kindly show Hope to her classes today?" Mr. Lamark clearly thought a lot of this girl.

"Um, sure. No problem." I wondered why.

My first class was honors English. The girl, Marielle, turned down a couple of halls as if she didn't care if I followed her or not. I did my best to find landmarks, but unfortunately there weren't many. She directed me to my class with a mild look of disgust on her face.

"I pity you." She said. What? Oh, she was referring to the class.

I shrugged. "I like it." I do, actually. English was probably my best subject.

"I don't. Have fun." Was that sarcasm? It was hard to tell. "I'll catch you by your locker later if you need more help finding your way around, but that map should help. A little. 'Kay? Bye." She spun around and head back down the hall rather briskly. I wondered what I had done to make her dislike me.

Entering the English room, a very round teacher swooped down on me. I showed her the note from the office and she directed me to a seat at the back of the room. My partner was a pretty girl wearing pink and orange. She had dark brown hair that reached a ways past her shoulders and brown eyes that looked Asian. She flashed me a dazzling smile, the kind that can make guys hang on her every word.

As I set my stuff down on the desk and settle into the chair she piped "Hi! I'm Maggie. Are you new?" Wasn't it obvious?

"Yeah. I'm Hope."

She nodded and added brightly, "Welcome to Whitman High. I hope you like it here." I paused, listening. Something had changed in her voice. . . .

"Thanks." I blinked. She had dropped her accent, or, rather, she was mimicking mine! "Hey!"

She grinned. "I'm good at mimicking. Sorry. Couldn't resist. So, what classes do you have today?" Her accent was back.

Glancing down at my schedule, I rattled off the list. "Er, normal math . . . bio . . . French . . . creative writing honors and honors World History."

"Cool. I'm in honors history too but it looks like you have it after lunch. Mine's right before."

"Really? How's the teacher?"

"Mr. Williams? He's good; I like him. Sometimes you gotta be patient because he's pretty scatterbrained, but he doesn't test much and he's very nice. He's got the _funniest_ mannerisms though. He'll give these long heartfelt speeches while looking at the ground, then glance up from under his bushy eyebrows . . . you'll see. There was this one time when we were watching this movie on Magellan, you know, the explorer, and he was trying to make us understand how absolutely _monumental_ his journey was, and how _amazing_ it must have been for those crew members, you know? I mean they were going to the ends of the earth, to lands never seen, never _imagined_ by Europeans, with only a fraction of a chance that they would return. Almost like space travel! ―"

"Maggie! _Maggie! _Maaaaaaaaaaggggieeeee . . ."

"Huh?" There was a boy standing in the isle, holding a stack of pink papers. He was trying to hand a couple to her. "Oh! sorry . . ."

"Here." She passed me one of the sheets. It appeared that I was going to have to write an essay.

"No! I'm not even _close_ to finishing that damn book! I've been trying to finish that huge biology project Mrs. Myer assigned last week. Man this workload is going to kill me. Have you read _The House of the Seven Gables_?" She was asking me.

I had. "It's not _that_ long, though . . ."

"Yeah I know but the language is so _dense._ I have to like break down every single sentence and look up every other word in the dictionary. It's insane. And the pages are all yellowy and the type is thick and solid and tiny! I mean, _really?_ It smells funny too! Oh well. It's just _karma,_ I guess. Man, I must have been bad in a past life. But I shouldn't dwell on that, should I? By the way, your shirt is so cute, where'd you get it?" I was wearing a light green t-shirt with white palm trees.

I shrugged. "Some shop back home. I don't think there's any over here."

"Cool. There's this great mall a few towns over with a gigantic movie theater and like every store you could ever want, so I thought I might apply for a job there sometime, maybe, if I need to . . ."

That whole class the girl would not shut up. She didn't even try to begin her outline for the essay. I wrote down a few ideas and some parts that I thought I would have to review. I had read that book two years ago and I definitely needed to refresh my memory. At the end of the class I packed up my things while Maggie swept out the door.

Using the map, I steered myself down the hall in the direction I suspected my next class was in. Luckily Marielle materialized in time to help me with specifics. A few classes went by uneventfully. Math, the period before lunch, definitely seemed the longest. I disliked math, but it was made a little better by the kindness of a red-headed blue-eyed girl who didn't seem to enjoy numbers much either. Her name was Alexa, and she had welcomed me to the school and offered help if I ever was in need of it. I could tell she meant it so much more then Maggie had.

As it turned out, Marielle was skipping lunch for some science elective, but I didn't ask her about it. As she headed back down the hall away from me once more, I could tell she smiled. I realized that she was someone who liked to be alone, someone who never got lonely.

I shook my head. There was nothing I could do. Besides, that was why she smiled, wasn't it?

I walked through the wide glass doors into the cafeteria.

****

_It is a terrible thing for an eight year-old to watch her parents die. Unfortunately, I remember it, and things haven't exactly been easy since that horrible night._

_It was late summer and the sun was falling behind the sea, the pink and gold sky reflected, fractured and glittering, onto the surface of the endless mass of water. The salty breeze carried a pleasant warmth on it. I stood on the pier in my pale green sundress and silver flip-flops, soaking in the sun's fading heat, the smell of the brine, and the dazzling sight of the spectacular sunset. My trance was broken by my mother, a tall, gentle woman with short blond hair and gray-blue eyes that reminded me of the sea. She touched me lightly on my small, bare shoulder, prompting me to follow my parents onto the large ship. It was quite a formal party. I understood that all the grown-ups in elegant attire were businessmen and women and their spouses and my dad worked with them. I wasn't quite sure what my father did; only that he did stuff with money. No matter how many times I asked and how many times he carefully explained it I could never understand what exactly he was doing with the money if he wasn't buying anything._

_The party didn't seem like much fun. I kept close to her mother's side, trying to be polite while they chattered away about things that I didn't understand or care about. My mother noticed how bored I was. She reached into her purse and pulled out a small notebook and a little box of colored pencils. I happily took them and found a little corner away from the cold, disapproving glances of the grown-ups where I could doodle in peace. _

_I don't remember what I drew, but I remember drawing for a long time before I remembered that I should probably check in with my parents. The thought had struck me that the party had finished and I was left alone on the ship. I jumped up, holding the paper and pencils tightly and ran out to the deck. At the sound of voices relief flooded me before I could register that they were screaming. I turned the corner to see thtworee figures wearing dark-clothes-that-were-not-suits holding guns. They had all the party guests backed into the front part of the ship. I saw women throwing their jewelry at the feet of the assailants and the men taking off their shiny watches and taking out their wallets, adding them to the pile._

_I ducked back behind the wall, fear stabbing through my veins. What were those men going to do? What would happen to my parents? I peered back around the corner, searching the pile of unfamiliar faces for that of my mother and father. I found them. They were in the back left corner. I saw my mom's eyes sweeping the exits, looking for me. Her gentle eyes met mine and widened in horror. Ever so slightly, she shook her head, telling me not to come out. Her lips formed the word hide._

_But I did not hide. I stood there, silently, and watched it play itself out. One panicked businesswoman tried to lunge at one of the gunman. He spooked and his finger tightened on the trigger._

_BANG! BANG BANG BANG! BANG! The gun went off several times, the deafening sound shattering the tense night air. Looking to my parents, I watched in horror as my mother's body jerked, bloody holes forming in her beautiful blue evening gown. My father, a strong man with twinkling green eyes and silvering brown hair, caught her before she hit the ground, blind to the bodies of two others falling to the deck. He let out a roar like I never imagined he could make. It was filled with so much pain. Tears filled my eyes as I began to comprehend what I was seeing. I opened my mouth and shrieked. My father heard me, saw me. The man who had shot turned at the sound, eyes narrowing. My shriek was cut off. I was too frightened even to run away from the men who killed my mother. _

_They were unable to get far, though. My father threw himself at the man who was walking toward me. There was another BANG, another thud as my father's body hit the ground. _

_I don't remember much after that, only the images of the ship's wall flashing around me as I ran and hid in some cupboard or closet where I curled up, hoping that I would never be found by anyone, not wanting to return to the dark new world that lay for me outside._

****

At lunch I recognized a couple people. Maggie was at a table full of popular-looking, pretty girls next to a table of popular-looking, athletic boys. Alexa's distinctive hair stood out like a beacon. She was sitting with a few friends at a table near the food lines. They all looked very sporty and many wore a combination of athletic shorts, sweatpants, t-shirts, or sneakers. They didn't seem like my crowd.

Then again, I had no idea what my crowd would look like.

I reached into my pocket and almost swore. I had totally forgotten to bring lunch money in the excitement of going to a new school. I supposed I could go to the office a borrow a couple bucks, but that wasn't really my style. I was more a suffer-in-silence type. I found a nice empty table and sat down on a stool, preparing to wait the hour long period out.

It wasn't long before someone plopped themselves down at my table. I looked up to see the wranger. "You aren't getting any lunch?" Alexa asked. She spoke quickly and sharply, but very kindly.

"No."

"Why not?"

"I don't have any money. I forgot."

"Here" She handed me a couple of green bills. "Pay me back when you can. If you want you can sit at my table."

I raised my pale eyebrows. That was unexpected. "Wow. Hey, thanks. I'll pay you back later." I stood up and made my way over to the food.

I came back a minute later with a salad and ice tea. I thought about taking Alexa up on her offer, but something stopped me. There was no reason not to, and every reason for it, but something inside me was holding me back. I gave a mental. There's always next time.

The day dragged on. I was forced to answer the questions of curious classmates and overly helpful teachers, as well as have Marielle barely put up with me as she practically dragged me through the corridors that my brain seemed determined to not learn.

When the end of the day finally came, I gathered up all my new notes and handouts and headed out a side door. I was going to do my best to avoid having an after-hours catch-up session with one of my teachers. From the way that Ms. Lawrence had tried to explain her year's curriculum to me, I was expecting it.

My parents, Lauren and Andrew, had told me that one of them would pick me up in the back parking lot after school. I turned the corner into the lot in time to see Alexa on the other side. Curious, I walked between a couple of cars, making my way towards where the road emptied into the lot and where Alexa stood. She stood there for a moment, looking around in a suspicious sort of way, like she wanted no one to be watching.

Unaware of my eyes on her, she pulled the straps on her backpack tighter around her shoulders and began to run. It looked like she was jogging, but I was sure if I was running like that I would be sprinting. She must be a serious athlete if she was going to run all the way home at a pace like that, but then again she might also live a couple streets over from the school. I didn't know.

But then she was gone. I don't mean like she ran around the corner or something. I mean like disappeared completely. I could see the road stretching out before me and there was no sign of her. I went over to where she had been standing beside the road. I saw the scuffled marks of her sneaker's tread in the sandy dirt. I followed her trail as the strides got longer as she began to run. Looking up, the trail continued in the same manner, as if she had just simply continued her run. There was no evidence to the contrary, but I knew what I saw. She had disappeared, literally, in the blink of an eye.

Something strange had happened here.

****

_The police had eventually found me, of course, as I knew they would. They pried me from the cupboard, my eyes red and raw and glued shut from the tears. Gently someone checked my bones and joints to make sure I was alright. A little stiff maybe, but otherwise perfectly fine. On the outside, anyway._

_They didn't ask me what happen. There were enough witnesses and they didn't want to traumatize me further. I'm sure one of the guests identified me as the daughter of two of the victims, but they still had point to my parents from a bunch of photographs. As gently as they could, they told me what I already knew. I didn't cry. I think I had cried all the tears I ever would back in that cupboard._

_I was an orphan. Gone was my comfortable life in a happy, secure home. I had a guardian, some friend of my father's, and lawyers and some agency looking out for me. I didn't know my guardian very well, just a man with no first name that I had seen at dinner parties a couple times. For the next six years I'd spend my school days at boarding schools and the blazing hot Decembers and Februarys with a foster parent or parents. It wasn't easy, I moved around a lot so I never really had time to make lasting friends or permanent bonds with any of my foster parents. I stopped trying after while, for I knew it would hurt when I had to say good bye again._

_My fourteenth year was the toughest. There was a two week's vacation from school between terms and I was living with my current foster mother, Debra, in her apartment in Brisbane. She meant well, and despite the fact that she was having trouble making a living she did her best to make me comfortable with what money the agency had granted her._

_The problem was her boyfriend, Rick. Rick the dick. He might have seemed fine at first, but once he showed his true colors she was in too deep; she was too afraid to get rid of him. He was an alcoholic, and I think he was steadily pulling Debra down with him. They would stagger home late at night, breath heavy with the stuff, brains barely functional. He gambled, too, and "borrowed" the support money that the agency would give my mother. It never came back as he lost more and more and sunk Debra further into debt. He would ask her for more, and it was all she could do to avoid begging the agency for larger checks._

_I did my best to stay out of his way. I was really afraid what he could do to me. Even intoxicated, Rick was much stronger than me. If he turned on me I had no means of defending myself. I couldn't trust Debra to stand up for me; half the time the poor woman was out cold on the bed._

_Just when I thought things couldn't get worse, they did. One night, when he returned to the apartment, he turned his attention to me. Debra had gone to bed, but he wasn't ready. I was sitting in the corner, preparing to wait the evening out until I could sleep safely, then ditch the apartment in the morning. Before heading to school. It is a horrible thing for the streets of the city to be safer than home._

_Rick tried to shout something at me, but his words were too slurred; I couldn't understand. I stood up and asked him to repeat it._

"_Cheeky little bitch." He swung at me drunkenly. I leaned back to avoid the blow. This only made him madder. He punched straight at me. It caught me square in the collarbone. I took the blow as best I could, trying to absorb the impact. It still hurt. A lot. I let myself crumple to the floor, hoping he would get bored and leave me alone. It worked. There were four more days of vacation. I was counting the minutes._

_He hit me again the next night, harder. The next night he kicked me. I had rolled into a ball on the floor like you're supposed to do when a wild animal attacks you, in the hopes that he would lose interest and to protect the important stuff. I came away covered in bruises. I didn't let Debra know, she was always asleep when he did it. I thought she had enough to worry about. Besides, I only had to endure one more night before I could escape to my boarding school._

_That night was the worst night. He didn't bother to wait until his girlfriend was asleep. As soon as he banged open the door he was upon me. To her credit, Debra did stand up for me. Better than that, she hit him with a book and screamed at him. Of course that made him even madder. He grabbed her by the upper arms and flung her across the room. She hit her head on the end of the bed and lay there, slumped against the wood, absolutely still. She was a small, skinny woman, probably weaker than me. He could've killed her. That was unforgivable._

_I lunged at him, trying to land a punch on his meaty back. He turned around and grabbed my wrist. He was drunk, but not enough for him to have lost all his coordination. He twisted my wrist until my eyes stung and I cried out. That made him grin. The sight of his filthy yellow teeth and smug, sadistic little eyes made me sick. I spat in his face and the stupid grin vanished. he released me and I dropped to the floor where I curled up as small I could. _

_I felt the hardened leather toe of his boot connect with my back, once, twice, three times. The third time I swore I heard a crack. I didn't want to make a sound, to give him that satisfaction, but I did whimper softly. I heard him chuckle. I tried to curl up tighter but that caused a sharp pain to erupt in my ribcage. Shit. I must've broken a rib. I shouted a colorful string of obscenities best not repeated in civilized company. If he was startled by my vocabulary he didn't asked where I learned it. Rick was much more a man of action. I dared to glance up at his looming form and regretted it._

_He was holding a knife. I didn't know where he got it, all I cared about was not getting stabbed. "Please." I whispered. I closed my eyes and my whole body tensed. Then I felt it. The metal connected with my back, carving a slash across my left shoulder blade. I screamed, but I was extremely relieved that he hadn't tried to stab me. Yet. I tried to brace myself for another, but nothing happened. Trying my best to ignore the blinding sting, I looked up, shifting gently to avoid aggravating the wound._

_Rick was looking at me like he'd seen a ghost. Trembling violently, eyes wide, he lifted his right hand to his left shoulder. "What . . ." he hissed. "How?" I was only confused by his behavior. What was happening? I tried to sit up, but my ribcage twinged violently. I heard a breathless gasp of pain, but it wasn't from me. Rick was sinking to his knees, clutching his ribcage, face crumpled in pain, mirroring what I felt inside. "You . . . you MONSTER!!!!!!" He roared. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!?!?!" I was really confused, but I was ready to play along if I meant he wouldn't hurt me._

"_GET OUT NOW!!!! OR IT GETS WORSE!!!!!!!!!!!" I yelled as loud as I could without feeling like my lungs would explode and my head was full of helium. He obeyed as fast as he could, hurrying gingerly to the door. I heard it slam shut as I gently lowered myself back to the floor. I remember briefly wondering how I would hide this at school tomorrow before the world went dark around me._

****

_I opened my eyes the next morning, finding myself with plenty of time to get to get ready. I got up carefully, feeling the cut on my back. I sighed with relief when I realized it wasn't deep, but it still stung. I ripped up the ruined cotton t-shirt I was wearing and fixed myself a decent bandage. The trick was to do it without bothering my wrist, or ribcage, which hurt like hell. The best I could do about the suspected broken bone was wrap the cloth around my body tightly in the hopes that it would hold it in place. I then put on a some streeet clothes and stuffed my uniform into my pack._

_After that I found Debra on the floor by her bed. She wasn't dead, but she had a wicked bump on her head, possibly a concussion. I somehow managed to get her onto the bed. Making sure I had everything ready for departure, I grabbed the phone and dialed the emergency number. Without bothering to speak to anyone I dropped the phone by Debra's side on the bed._

_I then grabbed my duffel and pack and left for the bus stop._

_My plan was to hide the injuries for as long as I could, long enough for me to be far away from Debra so when the police tracked down Rick both of us would be safe. Of course, it didn't work out exactly according to plan. It was my first-period teacher who noticed something was off with me. She asked a student she trusted to keep an eye on me. It was only two periods later, when I did my best to discreetly change for PE, that the girl must've noticed my makeshift bandages and blood. When I walked into the gym one of the instructors asked me to sit out. I did reluctantly, but inside I was happy to avoid bothering my rib. Turns out they were only waiting for that teacher to get me and escort me to the infirmary. There the nurse discovered the bandages, and, to her horror, the wounds they hid. She immediately called an ambulance and I spent the next week in the hospital._

_The next few months threw my life into chaos. They hired me a tutor to keep me up to speed with my education, but they tried to make me undergo therapy as well, after being questioned by the police. To my relief, the agency insisted that any articles in the newspaper were not to use names._

_It was in this chaos that Lauren and Andrew heard about me. They contacted the agency, and, after a long chat that made it clear that they were seriously interested in adopting me, they flew halfway around the world to meet the poor, abused little girl. They turned out to be some of the kindest people I ever met. They rented a hotel room in Brisbane where I stayed with them for a bit while all the papers were sorted out and the adoption finalized, before I packed up my stuff and jumped on the plane to Boston via Los Angeles. _

****

Lauren picked me up in her red convertible VW bug. I flung my pack in the backseat and sat down in the passenger seat.

"So," she began. "How was your first day at school?"

"It was great. The teachers were really helpful and a bunch of students seem, really nice."

"Ah, honey, that's fabulous! And the classes? Are you comfortable with them?"

I looked at her for a moment. It was a truly wonderful feeling to hear that sense of caring in her voice. I hadn't heard anything quite the same for eight years. "Yeah." I said. "Everything's great. Thanks."

She smiled. "Glad to hear it."

We rode the rest of the way home in silence. It wasn't awkward, just warm and happy as we felt the cool spring air on our faces and the purr of the engine. I was still getting used to the seasons getting warmer in April because down under they should be cooling off. My internal clock had quickly reset itself, but my mind had still not wrapped itself around all the backwards seasons of the northern hemisphere. I just grinned. It was great for something that trivial to bother you because it meant you had it pretty good.

****

It was only until later that evening, while I was sitting at the dinner table after eating, trying to review _The House of the Seven Gables_ that I remembered seeing Alexa behind the school, or, rather, the suddenness of NOT seeing her.

Maybe I would let her be my friend, if she extended the invitation again, which it seemed like she would. I needed friends. Having lasting friendships would be a really great thing.

I also wanted to know what exactly I had seen. She had done what seemed impossible to a normal human.

Maybe she was more like me than I thought.

********

**A/N: Yeah I know it's long, some 5,600 words or so. It actually didn't take as long as I expected to write so that is a very good sign. I live for feedback, so if you've bothered to read this far, REVIEW!!!!!! **

**Tell me: Who's your favorite character so far? What do you think about each one? (What do think their personality is like, what is their attitude toward mutants, etc.) Do you think they each sound different? Do their powers suit them? Are the flashbacks placed well or did you get totally lost? Please, anything at all.**


	6. Dragon

**A/N:** **Sorry this took so long, but I just acquired a whole ton of excellent books so my computer time has been neglected.**

**You haven't heard much from Maggie yet, so here you go. Writing this actually made me like her a bit more.**

**Her dad is Italian. That's why she corrects his English sometimes (she's still careless about her own.)**

**LOOK I KNOW YOU'RE READING SO JUST REVIEW ALL READY!!!!!**

**Enjoy =)**

Chapter 6

Dragon

Sunday morning my dad woke me up early to head over to our country club for a round of golf. It had rained overnight and it was still misty when we woke up, so he doubted anyone would be out. As much as I don't like being wet, the ground being squishy doesn't bother me. I got dressed in an orange tank-top and white shorts before jumping down the stairs to the kitchen. I ate a quick bowl of cereal and a glass of orange juice and pulled my hair into a ponytail. I then went out to the garage where my dad was already packing our bags into the trunk of his Porsche Boxter.

I jumped into the driver's seat without opening the door when my dad wasn't looking and turned on the radio as I waited for him to get in. He came around the other side and tossed me the keys. When he was in I stuck the keys in and started the car, feeling a little thrill when the engine sprang to life beneath me. Making sure everything was in order, I backed out of the garage and smoothly made my way down our long driveway and out into the street.

The country club was about five minutes down the street through an intersection and down a long semi-private drive. The large, tiered, well-landscaped parking lot was mostly empty except for a the cars of a few people coming in for a crack-of-dawn workout or, like us, trying to get a few holes in before the rest of the world woke up.

I slid into a spot directly in front of the steps up to the main building and parked before jumping up to unload our bags. I left my father to change into his special golf shoes while I went over to grab a cart. I swung the cart around back a second later and clicked it into park. I helped my dad strap the bags into the back. I grabbed a few tees, four plain white balls and a pink one, putting them into the designated compartments beneath the dash of the cart. My dad got in next to me and I took off up the hill.

"What do you think?" he said. "Front or back nine?"

"What? Only nine?" I said, with mock surprise. "What, is it like you have plans today?"

He chuckled. "No. But I don't really want to do all eighteen today. Do you?"

I smiled. "Back nine."

I coasted down the hill on the narrow, paved path along the first fairway, dodging the trees only just in time. My dad was leaning back, clutching the sides of the cart for dear life. I laughed and swerved sharply before the bridge, taking the shortcut to the tenth hole. I braked suddenly next to the blue things that marked where my dad teed off. I remained in the cart as my dad went around to the back of the cart and selected his driver, tugging off the protective sock. I was silent as he sunk the tee into the carpet-like turf and took a couple practice swings. It was rude to distract the player while they were taking their shot. A moment later, he stepped up and took a big, controlled swing at the poor little white ball. There was a hum in the air and a _fwap_ sound as the dimpled ball was launched in to the air. I watched it arch almost invisibly against the bright gray clouds and curve back down, landing squarely on the fairway.

"Nice." I said. He was pleased with that one.

He nodded. "Not bad. Your turn." he stuck his driver back into his bag and hopped in. I drove across a small wooden bridge over a marshy area to the yellow markers where I would tee off. My bag was very pretty, with panels of pink and silver. My clubs themselves were very nice too, with slick silver heads decorated with pink enamel. I tugged the sock off my driver and set up my tee and ball in the grass. I took a couple practice swings and took my shot. I felt the club connect solidly with the ball and send it flying down the course. I watched it fall near the edge of the woods before going back to the cart, putting my club away and getting back in.

We fell into the rhythm, taking turns hitting, alternating clubs, and driving from hole to hole. As the habit established itself we began chatting more and more. He was lining up a tricky chip shot from beneath the green when I asked, "So how's work going?"

He swung. The ball popped out of the long grass and dropped neatly on the green. "It's fine. Putter." I handed him his putter. "We've experienced an increase in demands this past year. Our labs in San Francisco have noted that the Cure's effectiveness fades over time, so we've been applying for grants in an attempt to combat this. Since the Source of the Cure is no longer available, we are limited to what DNA samples we have in storage. I've got a team working on replicating it, but we have yet to gain results."

My dad ran a large company specializing in bio-chemical engineering. His California-based branch was the one that worked on developing the so-called "Cure" that negated the x-gene in humans. The "Source" of the Cure had been a young boy with a mutation that canceled out the mutations of those around him. The X-Men had managed to free the boy, so new samples of his DNA were no longer available.

"It's fading? You mean, those who took it are regaining their powers?"

He nodded, grimacing. "We've yet to determine whether their powers will return entirely, but yes. It's not good for me and the company."

"The company and I." I corrected with a smirk.

He laughed. "Right. Not good for the company and I. I have people looking into a follow-up drug that will make the Cure permanent. We're also exploring the possibilities of a chip, implanted harmlessly beneath the skin, which would contain the DNA of the Source. In that scenario, the body would be totally unable to flush it from the body." He looked thoughtful. "Though it may be hard to administer it to those with certain mutations, such as impenetrable skin. I suppose even a fluid injection would have trouble getting a needle through their skin anyway. . . ." He trailed off, then looked at me with a bashful grin. "I'm boring you, aren't I?"

I shook my head. "No, it's okay. I like to know how it's going." I didn't like how he called the possibility of a Cure chip 'harmless'. If it worked, it wouldn't take long for the government to add a GPS tag to such a chip to keep an eye on them. They may not make the Cure part mandatory, but what if they liked the idea of knowing where each mutant was all the time? It would be even worse than the Registration Act if we all had little tracking chips in our neck.

"So what would that mean, if you managed a permanent Cure?" I ventured. I wanted to see what his intentions were.

"What do you mean?" He was lining up his put carefully, taking a couple practice swings before gently knocking the ball across the super-short grass. It rolled a little too fast to the left of the hole, then slowed as it mounted a small incline, and rolled back to within two feet of the hole.

"Nice one."

"Thanks. I want it to remain an option for those out there that aren't comfortable with who they've become."

"Whom."

"Che cosa? Oh, yes. With whom they've become. However, I think that dangerous mutants, criminals, who use their enhanced abilities unwisely, could be given it as well."

I knew that sounded perfectly reasonable to him, and a very attractive option to those who wanted mutants put down. Take away their powers if they misbehave! Yes, that _would_ make everything better. I shivered at the thought, though. Two year ago, when the lab at Alcatraz had been attacked by a large anti-human mutant group, the military had fought back with Cure weapons that fired darts filled with the dreaded drug. "What about the Cure weapons?"

"Ah, the dart guns. Didn't I say it was likely that criminal mutants would be cured? Well then, I think I have no choice. The government will manufacture them, whether we supply a permanent cure or not, so that they are better able to combat and capture them." He must have seen some of the worry in my face. "Don't worry, sweetie. The weapons are only to protect us from the mutants who want to hurt us."

I looked at him, blank-faced. "Why do you think they want to hurt us?"

He tilted his head in a thoughtful way. "I'm not sure. Some hate us simply because they are unhappy with their condition and hate us for not being the same way."

That confused me. I had never heard of a jealous mutant striking out against humans. I knew some didn't like being different, but they weren't the ones forming terrorist groups. "Really?' I said.

He nodded. "Others are mad because they don't want the Registration Act passed. Personally, I think it's a perfectly reasonable request. It's not like we'll lock them all up. We are simply asking them to identify themselves and their abilities."

I managed to nod in faked agreement. I _hated_ the prospect of that Act. I figured that when the turnout at the registration didn't meet their estimates they would send soldiers out with whatever mutant scanners they had devised to track down all those who hadn't registered, no matter the reason. She was sure some wouldn't put their names down on principle, some out of rebellion, some because they were trying to hide their true nature, and others simply because they were not yet aware that they were mutants. Being hunted like criminals was _not_ something I wanted for me or any of my kind.

There's a possibility that I'm just jumping to conclusions, but honestly, I've _seen_ how _stupid_ Americans can be when it comes to issues like this. If we weren't being hunted by the government now, then they would try later.

It honestly made me sympathize with the terrorist groups. Those people were brave. They stood up for themselves and those of their kind to demonstrate that we will _not_ stand to be put down by those who fear us.

Then I remind myself that it is those terrorists that give humans the reason to fear us.

I gave a little shake of my head. _Don't think about that._ I wasn't in the position to decide who was right or wrong. I could only hope that the more civil activists could get some laws past and certain other ones vetoed.

"So, where are you getting funds from now?" I tried to point the conversation away from dangerous mutants.

"Here," He tossed me my matte black putter. I went over to my little pink ball, which was about four feet from the hole, and lined up. "Well, apart from our remaining government grants, we of course have partnerships and investments from private companies and individuals."

I swung, keeping my elbows and wrists locked straight. The florescent pink ball rolled nice and straight toward the hole. For a moment I thought that I hadn't hit it hard enough, but then it continued rolling very slowly, teetering on the rim of the neatly cut opening before falling in with a little clatter.

"So is Worthington Industries still pitching in, after . . . after Alcatraz and whatnot?" I stepped forward and picked up my ball, stepping back to allow him to make his putt. The business world had been pretty shaken up after their CEO's 'dirty little secret' had been revealed.

"Yes, actually Mr. Worthington has increased the funding since Stark pulled out." He tapped his ball and it went straight in. Picking it up, he began to head back to the cart.

"Stark pulled out?" The billionaire's company was perhaps the only corporate giant that could compete with Worthington.

"Yes. Something about 'morals.' He seems to be sympathizing with the X-Men's cause. Fool."

I decided not to ask about that one. "And how are Mr. and Mrs. Worthington doing?" I had actually met them before at various holiday parties. The whole family, actually. Their son.

"Mr. Worthington has done his best to separate himself from Warren and his condition. He realizes his son has the right to make his own choices, which we all respect, but he is tainted by the fact that his son is a mutant who refused to take the cure. I think Mrs. Worthington is not doing as well as her husband. She has stopped coming to the dinner parties. I think she is full of grief at her son abandoning them and she fears what society must think of them now." His clubs put away, he sat in the passenger seat of the cart.

"He saved his life." I said quietly, remembering the blurred, jerky footage caught of Mr. Worthington falling and being caught by a beautiful, angelic mutant with pure white wings. His son.

I had known him, a little. We had been introduced at one of those formal Holiday parties that my dad had to drag me to. It had made them a little more bearable, talking to him had. We'd lean against some wall, quietly laughing at the silliness of it all: the formalities and forced smiles of society folk.

It had been a shock for all of it when we realized who the angel was.

I remembered the newscaster's voice narrating over a video of the shirtless man leaping through the glass window of the building in which the Cure was being administered. He had _wings._ Warren Worthington III. He was a mutant. At first, no one believed it. They _couldn't. _There was never the slightest indication that Warren was hiding anything beneath his designer, custom-tailored suits.

How _had _he hid those things?

I got in the car and pressed the GO pedal, popping it out of park. I guided the cart as it zipped up and around a small, artificial hill.

"He did, and I am sure he is very grateful, but that changes nothing. It could have as easily been any of those other X-Men." My dad said. It took me a second to remember what he was replying to. "he calls himself _Angel_. So silly."

I didn't see why it hadn't changed anything. I thought it would have changed everything. I thought maybe Mr. Worthington would abandon the search for a perfect Cure. Because he was still alive because his son _hadn't_ taken it. With a sudden jerk I parked the car suddenly at the next hole.

My dad got out and grabbed his driver, totally oblivious to my unease. I sat and waited as he took his stroke, noting down our scores from the last hole on the little card.

I rubbed my shoulders, trying to dispel the pressure building between them.

I wondered if my mother would care about what I'd become. The thought of seeing her this summer brightened my outlook a bit. Maybe if everything seemed alright, I would tell her when we were safely out of this stupid country, a universe away on the other side of the planet.

****

My dad leaned back against the tan cushioned seat of the golf cart as I sped along the path beside the first hole on the way back to the club, clutching the edge of the cart as if for dear life. I swung into the parking lot (carefully) and pulled up behind his car. I waited for him to unstrap and remove our bags from the back of the cart, after which I zipped it around to park behind the line of waiting carts. I jumped out and tossed the keys to the boy minding them.

Back at the car, I found my dad talking to some buddy of his.

"Hey, Mags. We're going to go in and have a snack. Do you want something?"

"Che ore sono?" As if I cared.

He glanced at his watch, automatically answering me in the same language. "Sono le nove." Nine o'clock.

I shook my head. "I think I'll just take a little walk. Meet you in an hour?"

"You sure? Okay then. A dopo." See you later. He turned and made his way up the steps.

I meandered up the hill to the very top of the first hole. Looking around, I walked straight across the putting green and onto an abandoned fairway. I walked a ways further until I could no longer see the buildings behind a small rise and a strip of forest. I turned my face up to the sky. The clouds were thinning and pulling apart in places. A sliver of sun streamed around the edge of one of those dense clouds, making it shine around the edges, vividly illustrating the phrase _every cloud has a silver lining._

I thought for a moment about a particular cloud of mine. Did the Cure have a silver lining? I hoped so, I just hoped that I would never have the chance to find it. If my father found out what I was . . .

No. he wouldn't do that. He loved me. He wouldn't care, would he? Well, he might care. He _would_ care.

But would he ask me, implore me, tell me, _force_ me to take the Cure?

I shivered. Best not to think about that. He didn't know, and I wasn't about to reveal myself to the world.

I stepped out of the cloud's shadow and felt the sun's stray rays touch my face with a gentle heat. I smiled and closed my eyes, enjoying the feeling. The heat spread across my skin and seeped inward, filling my veins with a coursing fire.

I rolled my shoulders, trying to rid myself of the tightness building within me. My veins seemed to flash with heat.

I knew what I had to do to release the pressure. I swung an arm out, mentally channeling the heat and pressure to my fingers. I swept my hand in an arch and let the flames sing from my palm and dance through the arm. I held the flames in the air, crackling and flickering and began to stir them around with both my hands. I spun in circles, painting the air with coils and spirals of brilliant orange and gold, laughing as I felt the strange life of the fire flutter through my palms. I drew fleeting shapes in the space like a little ballet girl with a ribbon. It felt so _good_ to be here, dancing with my flames in the sun.

When I stilled my hands the wisps of orange shivered and died. I didn't like that, so I set jets of flame in all directions except up. Someone might see that. Experimentally, I stopped to see how far I could project one. After a few feeble tries, I was able to throw my fire about twenty yards. Not bad, but I was sure with practice I could do better.

I spread my hand out and sent little flares out from my fingers, like feathers on a wing of fire. I leapt into the air, spreading my arms out, my wings of flame, humming in happiness. It reminded me of _un angelo._ An angel with flaming wings. More from Hell than Heaven, unlike Warren. His wings were real and white and they were beautiful. My dad had mentioned that he called himself like such. Angel. The _Avenging_ Angel, some had called him in the newspapers. He was like those X-Men with the strange names. I remembered a few of them. Wolverine, Storm, Iceman. They were definitely not their real names, so what were they?

Codenames. I had to admit they were kinda cool. Except for Iceman. That wasn't very creative, just sort of dumb.

Couldn't I come up with one, just for fun? A name for the mutant side of myself? Who I would be if I wasn't afraid of my father and his world of mutant-haters?

And it wasn't going to be Firegirl.

I concentrated on drawing the heat out of my hands and into my chest. From their I pulled it upward and then I _blew._

A swirl of flame jumped from my mouth. That's what I was trying for, by it still startled me, causing me to snap my mouth shut immediately.

I tried again, this time taking a great, deep breath that reached all the way through my torso and released it with a slight hiss. A huge tongue of flame erupted from my mouth, twisting and flickering with a brilliant light. It extended almost four yard in front of me. When I ran out of air the flames shrunk and died yellow. My tongue tasted smoky, not unpleasant, but almost salty and earthy.

I had my name.

Call me . . .

_Dragon_.

****

"Shit." The blonde young man was looking at the short list of names.

"What?" Logan glanced over at the papers and saw nothing offensive.

"I _know_ one of them. She'll recognize me."

"Do you not want to do this? I'm there are plenty others who would love to have your spot―"

"No, no. It's fine. I, um, I'll just put on a disguise. Nothing major, she doesn't know me _that_ well, but just enough to convince her that she doesn't know me."

"Suit yourself." Logan went back to Hank to see how the registration process was coming along. "How's it going, Furball?"

Hank rolled his eyes. "Fine. I'm just doing some finalization and," he tapped a key, "you're in. I just have to fix Kurt up with an image inducer and you'll be set. You start Monday."

********

**A/N: Like it? THEN TELL ME!!!!!**

**REVIEW!!!!!!**

**Please? If you've bothered to read this far, then just take the time to write me a review . . . it doesn't have to be long!**

**Yes, the X-Men will appear tomorrow and I am beginning to reveal what codenames the four girls have come up with. Any guesses for the others? Any suggestions for what they should be? Do you like Maggie's codenames? I NEED FEEDBACK!!!!!**

**I wish I could've fit more in on Maggie's family situation, but I couldn't come up with how she would talk about it with her dad. If I had tried, it may have taken me a few more days to get this chapter up. If you want to know more, PM me or mention it in a review and I'll respond.**


	7. Peregrine, Part 1

**A/N: Sorry to keep you waiting. School's started up again, so I've been really busy. That conspired with writer's block to make you wait a veeery long time to read this. I don't really like the part about her computer class, so suggestions for improvement are welcome.**

Chapter 7

Peregrine

Come Monday morning I was exhausted. My team had ended up playing nine forty-minute games to win the tournament over the weekend. I played even more than that because I volunteered to help out a couple teams who were down on players. Sunday afternoon Danielle and I had gone into NYC with our moms and done some shopping. We drove home that night, watching action flicks on the small DVD screen in my car and not bothering to try to get any sleep.

I regretted that decision in the morning. I was out cold when my alarm clock made the mistake of trying to wake me at 6:15 AM, about five hours after I had fallen asleep. I had one of those little clocks with wheels that would run away and hide from you after five minutes on the 'snooze' setting. That's why I turned it off instead of hitting 'snooze'. There was nothing I wanted more than to stay in bed and let the darkness claim me again.

I must've dozed off for a few more minutes when my conscience began prodding me. I had to go to school. My dad would be at work already today and my mom had to wake my little siblings in an hour or so. It would be hard on her schedule to drive me to school. If you're wondering why I just didn't sleep real late and then get ready superfast and run to school, it was because I was too tired. Ten hours of intense lacrosse over two days will do that to you.

I tugged open the shades and let the blinding sunlight flood the room. Blinking away the heaviness in my eyelids I dressed in lacrosse chick clothes: purple athletic shorts with zebra stripe panels on the sides, light blue tie-dye spandex shorts under those, and a light blue fitted t-shirt that declared "IT'S OK TO BE FAST" in white block letters. It was too bad I was the only one who could get the joke.

I zombied my way through my morning routine and just managed to catch the bus. Usually the bus was too slow for me, but today I welcomed the soothing roar of the engine and the opportunity to take a moment (make that twenty minutes) to doze a little.

First period was my last-term elective: computers. We had been fooling around with Photoshop the last few classes, our teacher showing us some cool features and tools, in preparation for our final project.

Still partially asleep, I made my way over to my station and booted up the computer from its weekend snooze. As soon as the little sunflower icon popped up I clicked on it, not bothering to wait for the computer to finish waking. I continued to click on it once every twenty seconds. I probably wasn't helping with the computer's responsiveness, but hey, I am not a very patient person.

When the computer finished thinking through its start-up, about twelve Photoshop windows opened up. That was probably not good, considering that the program was large and complicated. I took my hands off the keyboard and mouse and waited for the windows to merge into one.

As I did so, an unfamiliar woman walked into the room. Actually, calling her a 'woman' was a stretch. She couldn't have been much older than us, maybe nineteen or twenty years old. She had big brown eyes over a small nose and dark brown hair that was pulled up into a messy bun, framing her small, round face, reminding me of that chick in _Juno._ She wore a yellow blouse and slim white jeans, which definitely did not make her look any older. Catching my eye, she waved a small "hi." I nodded and smiled a little before turning back to my computer, thinking. She couldn't be a student, but she was too young and shy to be a substitute teacher.

I didn't have to mull this over for long. The teacher, Mrs. Hollerith, had materialized at the front of the room. She was a short, dumpy, middle-aged woman who didn't have very good control of the class, but she was a wiz with Photoshop and iMovie. She clapped her hands and did her best to call the room to attention.

"Welcome back everyone. I hope you had a nice weekend. I would like all of you to at least get started on your final project today, but first I would like to introduce you Ms. Pryde. She will be student-teaching with me for the rest of the year. While working on your project, please feel free to ask either me or Ms. Pryde any questions you may have. The assignment sheet is in the Handout folder. Please begin."

And so the mystery of the girl, apparently college-aged, was solved.

This last project, while important, was designed to be a bit more fun and laid-back than some of the other stuff we had been doing. We were designing posters supporting a cause we believed in and were being judged on creativeness, use of tools, time management, procedure, and overall appearance, among other things. I think Mrs. Hollerith was planning to put the best ones up in the hallways.

I opened a Word document to jot down ideas. I put down anything that pooped into my head: Special Olympics, the local animal shelter, Palestinian refugees, breast cancer research, endangered animals, malaria in Africa. . . . The list went on and on.

"Can I see what you're doing?" Said a soft voice behind me. I started a little and turned to see the girl, Ms. Pryde.

"Sure." I leaned back a little so she could look over my list.

"Mmm. That's a good list. All great causes."

"But . . . ?"

"You're going to make a poster, right? It's going to be hard to make own seem sincere if you don't truly care about it. What do you care about most on this list?"

I shrugged. "I care about all of these but . . ." I deleted the charities. "Those, by definition, are asking for attention."

She nodded. "Good point. These are mostly for the purpose of making a better world, right?"

"I guess. What would you do?"

Her eyes were a little sad, but with a small smile she said "I think I would do something about human rights in America."

A million things popped into my head. Civil rights, gay rights, and, foremost of all . . . mutant rights. That was perfect for me, but it would be too obvious. I couldn't, not without arousing suspicion.

"That's a great idea," I said, "I would love to do that, but―" I shut my mouth, terrified that I could have been pointing that the issue was too close to home, but I had no reason to worry.

"―too big a topic? But what if you took some current issues and compared them to older, resolved issues― like segregation?"

Perfect! I could cover mutant persecution by placing it alongside other issues. I nodded. "I could use symbols . . . like an old bus beside a rainbow and, say, a figure with wings or horns or something."

Ms. Pryde beamed and straightened up. "You have some amazing ideas there, Reid. I'll leave you to it, then." She walked away to help some other unimaginative student.

It was a while before I wondered how she knew my last name.

****

Two periods later, I found myself sitting in math with a few minutes to spare.

Hope leaned over, a small grin on her face. "_Look,_" She hissed, "over by the door." I turned in my seat. A young man was walking through the door after the teacher. I heard people as they shifted in their seats to scrutinize him.

"Must be another student teacher." I muttered.

"Another?" Hope said, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah. I had one in computers. Maybe their school or ours in entered into some program."

Hope nodded. "I'm not complaining!"

I smiled. "Me neither."

This one was cute. He had blond hair, blue, a rather broad nose, and a permanent note of concern in his mild expression. He was wearing a dark blue dress shirt.

Mr. Gauss introduced him, confirming our suspicions. Apparently, Mr. Drake would be sitting in on our classes for the rest of the week, as well as some other math classes, before beginning to teach some sections himself.

"Drake. That's hot."

I looked at Hope. "He's like twenty."

"So? I can still admire him. Maybe he's got a little brother." I rolled my eyes, but I was happy to see that Hope was being friendly.

The rest of the class was uneventful, unless you count most of the girls were too distracted to really pay attention. When the bell rang, Hope and I grabbed out bags and headed out together, but not before waving in Mr. Drake's direction. He smiled and nodded as we went out the door.

I turned to Hope. "Do you want to eat with us today? I think we're going outside today."

She nodded. "Yeah. Can you wait a moment? I have to get my jacket. It's kind of cold out."

I laughed. "No, it's not. But sure."

****

As it turned out, my two best buds had a huge History test tomorrow so we lost them to the books. Hope and I sat beneath a big tree in a little bit of lawn next to the parking lot.

"So . . . why'd you move here?" I wondered.

"My parents live here, well, my new ones do. I'm adopted."

"Oh, so your real parents . . . ?"

"Died. Um . . . armed robbery. I was eight."

"Oh my god! I'm so sorry. That must've been horrible." I shivered a little. To go through something like that at such an age . . . so young but yet so old that it would've been devastating. I was shocked that she made it through and was so . . . normal. Just the barest though of losing my family made my heart twist.

"It's all right, I've moved on." She looked away. "I still get sad sometimes, but this is my chance to start afresh." As she looked back at me, a shadow passed over her light green eyes.

I felt a sharp pang somewhere in my chest. It was not sympathy, but a sadness and longing. The bright spring sunlight felt empty and goose bumps arose on my arms beneath the soft breeze.

I smiled. "Yes. I hope you can be happy here."

Her eyes brightened. "Of course. It's been great so far."

"Any guys you're looking at?" I said playfully, raising my eyebrows.

"Not really."

"Don't lie. I can tell."

"Fine. There is a chance that there might be this guy in my art class." She looked kind of sheepish.

"Who? What's his name?" I sat straight up.

"Um, do you know a Tim?"

"Tim . . . Zhu?"

"No."

"Then nope! Is he hot? What grade's he in? What's he like?"

She giggled. "Slow down! I don't know if I like him yet or not. He's a junior. He's on the short side, very cute. He's a baseball player, but not the dorky kind. He's reeeally nice. When we had to work in teams for this one thing our teacher put us into groups and he hasn't changed his seat yet!"

"Wow, that sounds awesome. Hey, good luck. Turn up the flirting!"

****

Last period, I stayed a few minutes after class had ended to ask my bio teacher a few questions. When I left, I went out the back door on the second floor into the parking lot. I tightened the straps on my pack and looked around. I was behind a line of faculty cars, the only others in the parking lot were a few seniors somewhere along the process of getting in their parent's cars to head home.

I took off running. To my surprise I felt a straight line cut suddenly across the front of my ankle, I felt the line snap as I was sent flying across the dusty sidewalk, crashing down on top of my backpack, scuffing my skin against the hard, gritty surface. I lay there for a second, eyes closed. "Ow." I said.

To my surprise (again), someone answered me.

"Sorry about that. Couldn't think of any other way to, uh, catch you." Damn. I knew that accent. I opened my eyes to meet a familiar gray-green stare. Hope made to offer a hand, but I was on my feet before she fully extended her arm.

"Save it." I said. "What was that? Fishing line?"

She nodded. "Turns out my dad likes to fish now and again." I looked around. Now that I was still and knew it was there, I could see the clear shine of it. It lay limp and broken now, but I could see it had been stretched tight between a traffic sign and a tree. She followed my gaze before looking back at me. "So I guess you're a runner."

What did she mean by that? Obviously, she knew something. As for how much, I would have to tread carefully.

"What do you mean?"

"You run fast."

"I guess. I play sports and stuff."

"NOT what I meant. I saw you yesterday, behind the school. One minute, no, second, you were there, the next you weren't. You began to jog at a sprinting pace and then you weren't there, but there was still tracks in the dirt. I set up the tripwire today to see . . . to see . . ."

"What?"

"If it was possible that you were a mutant."

Damn.

"What did you see? Just now when you tripped me?" I had to check if my closetedness was salvageable.

She furrowed her brow. "Well, I was standing over there a ways. I felt a rush of air, and I thought I might have seen some light blue, and then you were there." She pointed at the ground. She looked up. "You can run fast, can't you?" She asked again.

I supposed there was no denying it now. I nodded reluctantly. "Yeah."

"Don't worry, I'm not going to tell anyone."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"Can I trust you?"

She looked at me. "Do you have a choice?" But upon seeing my expression she added, "Of course."

"Why?"

Hope paused, indecisive. She bit her lip. I could see her reason in her eyes, teetering on the edge, but when she spoke she pulled it back out of sight, going with a safe answer. "Because I'm your friend."

As curious as I was, I wasn't going to pry. Whatever she had left Down Under, she didn't have to bring it here. I smiled.

"You want to come to my house this afternoon?"

"Sure! I'd love too. One question, though."

"What?"

"What's your code name?"

Did I hear her right? "My what now?"

"You're code name! It seems most mutants do. It'd be cool." She looked eager.

"Uh, I haven't thought of that." I began walking in the direction of home. I pulled out my phone and sent a text to my mom telling her that I stayed after for extra help on a project and was walking home with a friend."

"Well, you should thinkof one!"

"Ok then. Help me."

"Well, you're fast, right? No other powers?"

"I don't think so," I said slowly. "So should I call myself Fastgirl? Superspeedychick?"

She laughed. "No, no. Call yourself _after_ something fast."

I thought for a moment. "Lightning?"

"Nah. That's sort of like that DC superhero."

"The bullet? Magnetic-levitation trains?"

"Do you have to ask? Maybe like and animal or something. What's the fastest animal?" She kicked a bit of gravel into the road. A car roared past.

"Cheetah? Nope can't use that. It's sound like cheater if you say it with a Boston accent."

"How else do you say it?" She asked. "Cheetah." In her mouth it sounded like cheater, too.

I smiled. "So that's a no. Wait― Danielle said― that's not the fastest animal. There's the Peregrine falcon. That can top out at like over 200 mph in a dive."

"Well there you have it."

"What?"

"Your name! You're Peregrine."

Damn. That _was_ perfect.

********

**A/N: I can't believe I did it! I wrote this chapter! 2,724 words. I didn't get everything I wanted accomplished, but that's why Peregrine is going to have two or three parts. Thank god for Friday afternoons. I think following events will have to happen sloppier and quicker than I originally intended, but that's going to have to happen if I want to (sort of) finish.**

**By the way, like her name? Input welcomed― no, needed. PLEASE REVIEW!!!**


	8. Poltergeist

**A/N: Sorry about the wait. It's tough to find the time to write with school and homework and life. But here is chapter 8. Finally. Please take two seconds to review.**

**A shout out to Bright-Eyed Athena for the reviews and advice!**

Chapter 8

Poltergeist

I'm not really a people person. _Especially_ the psychology sort.

I hate counselors. They think they know what your "thing" is. They think they know exactly what courses you should take. They think they know the best way to pitch you towards colleges. They're wrong. It's so easy to think you know someone when you really don't know the first thing about them. Who are you to presume what secret life someone's hiding behind polite button-ups and mild expressions of attentiveness? Counselors think that fancy degree in calligraphy and cursive in a neat little frame makes them qualified to chart your life course. After all, education is everything. It is here in High School that you seal you Fate.

But I'm ranting.

The counseling center is a place I do my best to avoid. I only go once or twice a year when they round up a couple kids for a "getting to know you" session, and then again when _I_ tell _them_ exactly what classes I want to take.

That's why I was surprised when I got the note. I had everything planned out in February: next year I was going to take Honors Calculus and Honors Physics, and Marine Biology and Forensic Science as Electives. I had broken no rules; I had no domestic or social problems, no drugs or gangs of any sort. There was no reason for me to visit my counselor.

And yet little yellow square of carbon-copy paper sat in front of me on my desk in English. I had an appointment during lunch, two periods later, to meet with one _Ms. J. Desdemon._ That was not my counselor. My counselor was a man, so maternity leave was not likely. Maybe she was a _special_ counselor. Gross.

I thought nothing of it until later. I had just finished a slice of veggie pizza when I remembered I had the appointment at 11:20, which was RIGHT NOW. I dumped my tray in the trash, grabbed my bag, and spun through the door, straight to the end of the hall, down a few stairs to counseling center. The room was low-ceilinged and, unusual for this building, carpeted, giving it a deadened, smothering atmosphere. I shoe the slip at a little frumpy lady behind a fake-wood desk and she waved me towards an office in the back corner of the room.

Pushing the heavy, windowless door open, I entered the cramped office. A youngish woman stood up from behind her desk in the corner, shook my hand and directed me into a slightly padded chair. She sat opposite me in an identical chair across as small round table of unidentifiable material.

I looked at her as she introduced herself. She had shortish, blondish hair and large, dark reddish-brown eyes. Her nose was small and pointed in the middle of her face, which was oval-shaped, pale, and slightly . . . glittering? No, I think those were just freckles. She also had pink lipstick and pink nails. She wore a white blouse, a black pencil skirt, and black heels, no jewelry. Very boring. Somehow I felt she wasn't really comfortable in this situation: the clothes, the job, the office. It all didn't quite fit.

I smirked and my eyes flickered away. I rarely ever looked at people much after first impressions.

"So, how is everything with you?"

"Fine. Everything is normal." My eyes swept across the room. It was mostly bare. Nothing personal or homey about it. There were a few books on colleges and applications and the filing cabinets were stuffed full. There was a calendar book on her desk. Mentally, I felt along the laminated cover, lifting it slightly open. "Why am I here?" I said. I felt a slight change in the texture of the inside cover. Under the table, I rotated my hand a little. The book shifted on her desk and I glimpsed a rectangular white rectangle on the blue background. There was black print on it that I could just make out:

Login: jdesdemon

Password: cat24red

Bingo. My hand relaxed and the book fell shut. "Why am I here?" I repeated.

"I have two things to talk to you about. The first thing I would like you to do is to fill out a survey. No big deal, many people are receiving them, but I'm giving it to you now while I have you here. It should take a little while, so I'll let you take it home and return it to me before Friday." She shuffled some papers out of her leather paper-binder thing.

"And the second reason?" It was 11:26, almost 11:27. I was missing valuable do-nothing time after eating.

"I'm sure you are aware, Ms. Cornet, that you are eligible for dual enrollment opportunities?" It was a statement posed as a question.

"Vaguely." It was true. I knew that exceptional students were offered to opportunity to take classes at a college, and I knew I was an exceptional student. I just didn't really consider it. Much.

"I see from your records that you seem to have exceptional aptitude in the maths and sciences. Do you think you would be interesting in taking a class at a college in the Boston area?" She leaned forward on her elbows. I edged slightly backward in my chair. Don't worry; I didn't do it rudely. I can be subtle.

"Yeah, I might be."

She slid two stapled packets of paper across the table. She tapped the thicker one and peeled up the top sheet and tapped the lines of black print. "I urge you to consider it. Take this information packet home and discuss it with your parents. Here is a list of colleges; you can go online and check out the courses available to math and science high school students. All the information regarding financial arrangements and schedules are there too …"

I tuned out after that.

I walked away at 11:38, four minutes before the bell rang, just enough time to scoot to my locker and up the stairs to French III Honors. We had a sub, which was unfortunate for him. I was restless and my head felt unpleasantly tight. That meant I would be unwinding the psychic tension by driving him insane. I dropped my books on my desk and sat down in the sort of way that screams DEFIANCE. I'm afraid my well-planned posture was lost in the meaningless, routine scuffle and unrivaled noise that was only The Beginning of French Class.

I sized up the enemy. I wasn't familiar with this particular sub. He was tall and rather young, perhaps in his thirties. He had a long, narrow face and a sharp, clever expression. His hair was dark, short, and stuck straight up. His eyes were dark and glittering too, but they seemed strange somehow; I couldn't quite place it. His skin was very pale. He was tall and slim and seemed to bounce a little when he walked.

He straightened up and cleared his throat. "Escuse me." He began. "I am fery sorry to anounsse zet your tetcher vill be out for ze next few veeks." I raised my eyebrows. He had a very heavy German accent. In front of me, I saw Maggie's face lift as she smiled too. I'd heard her before: she had an amazing ear for accents. This was just another to add to her repertoire. She could be a good field agent for the CIA or SHEILD or something if she managed to get over herself long enough to apply.

"My name iz Mr. Wagner. I vill be your tetcher for a vhile. Iz zat okay vith you?" He pronouncer his name VAG-ner, but from what I knew about German suggested that the first letter was a W.

"PARTY!" Jeremy shouted from the front. I don't think Mr. Wagner had expected an answer, but then that was Jeremy. Loud and obnoxious, I wasn't even sure why he was in Honors. Our regular teacher could barely keep him under control.

Mr. Wagner smiled. I swear his canines were particularly pointed. But then again, I'm paranoid. "I don't dink zo. Jeremy, iz eet? Your tetcher mentioned in her notess somezing abot a troublemaker."

"Yeah that's me!" Jeremy shouted. I lay my head on my desk. Clearly nothing was going to be accomplished in this class. I resorted to doodling, all thoughts of sabotaging the substitute forgotten. It would be a bad idea to make him hate us so early. I would have to learn his habits before striking. And, oh, I intended to strike. Hard.

****

The survey was weird. I had a free eighth period and found a small table in an obscure corner of the library to get it over with. The questions were personal but not probing; in fact they were vague. There seemed to be no common theme; some questions were like:

_16) Do you or have you ever felt like you've had a secret that you couldn't tell anybody?_

And others were like:

_22) What is you general attitude towards activists such as the late Senator Kelly?_

Obviously, thoughts bloomed in my head unbidden. 16) Headaches. The party. Telekinesis. 22) Disgust. Fury. Fear.

But, of course, I did not write that down. I wrote down bland, mild answers. 16) No, I have no secrets between me and my friends and I can talk to my mom. 22) Senator Kelly seemed misguided regarding human rights but I respect that he stood for what he believed in.

I peered around a bookcase. I knew the time (2:02) but I had a feeling I wanted to know who was in the library. Ms. Desdemon had entered and was pretending like she hadn't been watching my bookcase. Standing beside her was a poised, athletic, red-headed girl wearing a lacrosse t-shirt and brightly colored shorts. Her large blue eyes flickered to me once and then back to her papers. She leaned forward and spoke quietly to the counselor.

A small suspicion began to form in my mind.

****

**A/N: Aaaaand ACTION!**


	9. Peregrine, Part 2

**A/N: Impressed that I wrote this so fast? I know I am. R&R.**

Chapter 9

Peregrine, Part 2

Hope and I arrived at school early Tuesday to get some extra geometry help. I swear it wasn't just to see our new student teacher, who was on morning extra help duty. Okay, maybe it was, a little, but we still had a quiz coming up that I seriously needed help with. We both did.

At the back of the room, we drew a couple desks together and pulled out homework covered in red X's. Mr. Drake came over and pulled up a chair beside us. He sat down and leaned over our homework. I looked at Hope. She was looking at the top of Mr. Drake's head. She glanced at me, eyes wide. I raised an eyebrow in what I hoped was a he's-too-old expression. She shrugged.

Mr. Drake leaned back and crossed his arms comfortably. "Is there anything in particular you would like me to clarify or explain?"

"Yeah, can you explain how to do this last one? Number 26? I was totally lost." I glanced at Hope's paper. She had gotten it wrong too. She leaned in closer without a word to hear the answer. Mr. Drake picked up her pencil and began to sketch out the diagram for the proof.

The morning passed like so. I asked questions and Hope listened intently, only occasionally prompting greater elaboration. Hope was in the midst of one of these when I looked up into Mr. Drake's eyes. I saw something there. Despite all his patience and understanding, I know with a sudden clarity that _he was not a teacher._ All of my instincts screamed RUN, but I fought the instinct to be in New Hampshire within the minute.

I stiffened and asked no more questions. I did not trust this man. I let Hope finish with her whatever before announcing, "I have to go. My locker is over in east." Mr. Drake locked up at me, then at the clock, but he nodded and stood up, beginning to pull the desks back into place. I left; Hope followed.

"What was that about?" She hissed, jogging slightly to keep up with me as I walked down the hall.

"Nothing." I said, rubbing my bare, goose-bumped forearms. I think I had caught a bit of chill in that frigid math room. Hope was wearing a sweatshirt and long pants despite the spring weather.

"No, really. You just totally flipped out in there. What happened?" I slowed a little so I could look into Hope's eyes beside me. She was truly concerned.

I slowed to a halt and closed my eyes. "This is going to sound crazy."

Hope shook her head. "I don't care. Just tell me what happened!"

I took a breath and began, "So I, uh, I saw something in there. Mr. Drake, he, uh, he's not a teacher."

"What do you mean? He's just a student teacher."

"No, no, no. He's not even that. He is here for another reason. Hope, he's _looking_ for something." I started walking again. "This sounds so stupid out loud."

Out of the corner of my eye I saw her shaking her head, out of disagreement or disbelief I did not know. "Like I spy? I don't know…"

"Never mind."

"No, Alexa, I think what you felt in there could be real. You sensed danger in there, yes? Well, you are," She dropped her voice to a rasp, "a mutant. You're not like other people. Who knows, you may be on to something legit."

I raised an eyebrow. "I run. That's it. Are you suggesting I have, what, a sixth sense?"

She shrugged. "Think what you want. It's a possibility." She stopped short. "My locker. See you at lunch?"

I nodded and strode on.

****

Ten minutes later I arrived in computer science. I set my stuff down and booted up the computer. I sat, waiting, when Ms. Pryde walked in. "Hello, Neil."

"Good morning." I replied. I looked up and caught a glimpse of her brown eyes observing me curiously. She disguised the look by walking forward, past me and the students trickling in. _Shit._ The student teacher was just like Mr. Drake: NOT A TEACHER. I shrunk in my chair behind the monitor. This was weird. Why did I know this? I tried to tell myself that I was being irrational and paranoid, but I couldn't shake that feeling of distrust and terror that sat like a blanket on top on my mind.

I sat stiff throughout the class, fingers skittering mechanically across the keyboard. I'm afraid I was careless; my fingers blurred and the clicks of the keys were like machine gunfire. I knew my record was about twenty words a second but I usually slowed down a whole ton to avoid suspicion. Today, however, I was too distracted.

A split second before the bell rang, I had my bag and was at the door. I was prevented from leaving, however, by the sound of my name from the very person I was avoiding.

"Neil!" I froze and pivoted on my heels. There was Ms. Pryde, holding out a small square of yellow paper. She bit her lip. "Here. You've got an appointment with the counselor today at, well, the times on the note. Have a good day!" She finished brightly and waved as she retreated into the computer cave.

I glanced at the time on the paper. 11:48, right at the beginning of my lunch period. _Oddly specific, but okay._ I folded the slip in half and stuffed it in a little pocket on my backpack. (I had no pockets.) I pulled out my phone and sent a quick text to Hope: _going 2 counselors lunch. Meet u after in E common._

I looked up to see Danielle bouncing towards me. I smiled and walked forward to join her on our way to History.

****

Inevitably, math class came, succeeding my free period after Biology, and I had to face Mr. Drake. I met Hope outside the door and grimaced. "I don't want to see Mr. Drake right now. This is scaring me. My student teacher for computers is just like him; they're like, I don't know . . ."

"A spy?" She suggested.

"Yeah." I said sheepishly. As stupid as it sounded, I felt the truth in it. I SAW it in their eyes.

"Skip?"

"No, I could never do that."

"Then act like you suspect nothing. I trust you, Alexa; you've got something else. You're seeing things I can't." She shrugged her shoulders and swept into the room.

I took a breath and followed her, but as it turns out I had no need to be reluctant; Mr. Drake was not there. Unfortunately, that did not ease my paranoia. I spent a large part of the class wondering why he was gone and whether it had any to do with my freak-out earlier. _Don't flatter yourself, _I thought.

Class let out. I headed down the hall to my locker, where I had just enough time to stuff my books back into the narrow metal chamber before zipping down the stairs into the counseling office for my appointment with a Ms. J. Desdemon. The woman behind the desk flashed her bad teeth at me and indicated an office door. I padded softly on the carpeted floor and entered the small, square room. I left the door a crack open, but, alas, the heavy rectangle of wood fell shut.

I turned around and froze.

The girl who sat before me was like none I'd ever seen. At first glance she would appear to be some kind of punk. She wore a deep pink strapless leather thing over a skin-tight white shirt with three-quarter sleeves and a mock-tee collar edged with black lace, as well as black skinny jeans. Her hair was short and stuck up in a spiky, unruly mess, colored dark pink on the sides and with a splash of white in the center. Her lips and nails were painted the same shade of light red. In her eyebrow and ears she wore a selection of shiny dark gray rings and studs, probably made of hematite. A chain link bracelet of the same stuff rattled on her wrist above her pink leather fingerless biker gloves.

At second glance, I saw she was more than that.

For one thing, her eyes were the same vibrant deep pink color that all her accessories seemed to be coördinated with. They glinted and glittered in the light in an unnerving sort of way. Narrowing my eyes, I noticed what made them seem so alien, so feral: her inky black pupils were narrow and vertical like a cat's. What's more, her pale skin seemed to catch the light in an unusual way, throwing tiny specks of pink and silver light across her skin and the wall. She obviously meant to enhance the effect by adding a sparkly silver make-up to her eyelids.

She smiled a sweet, brilliant white smile and stood to offer her hand. "Hello. I'm Julianna Desdemon, but please, call me J.D." She reached across the table with a pink-gloved hand. I met it with my own and we shook. The leather was surprisingly worn-soft beneath my palm, scraping only slightly on the seams. I noticed the skin on her arms glittered pink too. I figured that meant it was probably not purely cosmetic.

I sat. "Alexa Neil." I said.

"How are you?" She smiled brightly again. I couldn't tear my eyes away from her glittering, wild gaze.

"Fine, thanks, and you?"

"Never better."

I paused, wondering how to go on. As it turns out, I didn't need to. Desdemon spoke before I blurted something lame and ill-planned.

"As I'm sure you can see, we have a lot to talk about. I'm a mutant, Alexa." I pursed my lips and nodded slowly, not trusting myself to speak. I had guessed as much, but I did not know what this all could mean.

"We know you are too." I sat still, my mind racing. Three waves of feeling and two sharp thoughts surged through my head. First: _HOLY SHIT PANIC RUN EXPOSED HIDE FLEE_. Second: _This was inevitable. _Third: _Accept the fact that your life will change forever._ I relaxed all the muscles that I hadn't know I had tensed. Then I spoke aloud the two thoughts:

"_We_ know _how?_"

She smiled. _Are everyone's canine's that sharp-looking?_ "I am psychology teacher at the Xavier Institute for Gifted Youngsters, by which we mean it is a safe haven for young mutants. _We_ are my colleagues and I, the teachers at Xavier's. I am a minor telepath; there is a device at the Institute that allows me to amplify my powers, with which I located _you._"

I was quiet again. She was a telepath. That kind of freaked me out. On a whim, I shouted LIAR in my head. I watched Desdemon's face closely. There was no reaction, no flicker in her strange eyes. She had said she was a _minor _telepath, so perhaps my thoughts were safe. I settled on a question.

"There are mutants everywhere. Why did you come here?"

She raised an eyebrow. "What do you think?"

I knew I couldn't be that important. My powers were nothing special. I shrugged.

"You aren't the only one, Alexa. Three more students in this school are mutants too. We worry that you may attract attention from the . . . more _dangerous_ groups of activists. I am asking for your help."

It was my turn to raise an eyebrow. "For what?"

"Recruitment. We are willing to offer you and the others a full scholarship to Xavier's."

"Why do you need my help?" I kept my face blank. I had no idea what I felt. I couldn't imagine leaving this place.

"We would like you to watch these girls, talk to them. We need to see where they stand; if they are unstable, they could be dangerous."

"Why haven't you talked to them like you have to me?"

"You are the most trustworthy one. I've talked to your teachers (in disguise, don't give me that look) and all agree that you a smart, honest young woman. The others, we are not sure about. That's why we need you. Interested?"

In fact, I was. This was an adventure. "Yes."

She reached into a filing cabinet and pulled out a thick manila folder. "Before I can reveal the identities of these individuals, can I confirm that you are in on this?"

I tilted my head to one side. "Can you first tell me who 'we' is?"

She nodded."In fact, I can call them in now. Several of them happen to be posted at the school. She pulled out a flip-top phone and tapped a couple keys. It looked like she was sending a pre-prepared text. She snapped it shut.

There was a knock on the door surprisingly soon. "Come in!" Desdemon called in a singsong voice.

Four people entered the room. I felt a jolt of shock and followed by complete understanding at the sight of Mr. Drake and Ms. Pryde. Other than them, there were two others. One was a muscular man with enormous sideburns and indeterminable age (30s? 40s?) and the other was a slight, agile man with short dark hair and pointed canines.

Desdemon stood and walked around the table to introduce me to her friends. I shook their hands."I believe you have already met Bobby Drake and Kitty Pryde? You can call them by their first names now. I looked up, expected to feel that rush of distrust once more, but I felt nothing. I knew who they were now.

"This is Logan, and this is Kurt Wagner."

"Nice to meet you." They all responded in the same vein. Kurt seemed to have a heavy German accent.

"Damn!" I turned to see Desdemon looking at the time one her phone. "You have to go, Alexa, if you want to get something to eat. Take this," she shoved the folder into my hands. "Familiarize yourself with the contents. My number's written on the inside of the cover. Call or text me anytime if you need to talk. Bye!"

I hurried out the door and down the hall to the lunchroom. I got a granola bar from the vending machine then headed down to the commons. I sat down next to Hope, who was frantically doing last night's history homework before the bell rang and I could stuff the folder into my locker in exchange for my books.

****

It was not until later that I was able to think about the lunchtime revelations. I pulled the folder out and opened it. One the very first page, I saw four pictures with neatly printed labels:

**Alexa Neil**

**Marielle Cornet**

**Hope Dunningham**

**Maggie Russo**

I set the page down slowly and blinked.

Holy shit.

******

**A/N: SOOOO what do you think? Please review!**


	10. Hekate

Chapter 10

Hekate

**A/N: I got inspired! I'm writing again! Be happy! So I've had this chapter in the works now but today I found it again and finished it. I have big plans for the development of Maggie, who was my previous least-fave but now she's growing on me. Sorry this chapter is a little short but some good stuff gets moving.**

**Sorry to leave you with another cliffhanger. But not really ;)**

**Huge thanks to all my readers and those who have stuck with my story for so long. Any fan of X-fics should check out "A New Life" by Bright-Eyed Athena. Great stuff.**

**Reviews please! They keep me going.**

_Hope is all that's brought me here/ and there is still much more to fear._

Just when I thought things were settling down and my current life was, dare I say it, _normal_, everything changed. It began that Tuesday morning when Alexa and I met up for extra help with the adorable Mr. Drake. Way too soon, Alexa bolted for no apparent reason. It was like all of a sudden she stiffened and she threw up shields, shutting herself inside. Afterward she couldn't explain herself; all she knew was a sudden burst of suspicion.

My inclination was to think that she was being really weird, but then again, she was weird. She was a mutant and graced with gifts beyond the ordinary human capabilities. Perhaps what she felt was a sixth sense, part of her mutation. It was definitely a possibility.

It made me think. I sat through the next few classes in a daze. Something happened to me that had not happened in a while. Lines of poetry shifted through my head, fully formed. Sometimes in fragments, sometimes in rhyming couplets and verses.

Things that I had kept tightly closed up in a dark corner of my heart were wafting through me. In my mind I could see my mother looming above me, smiling, turning away one last time as I walked away on that damn boat. Noise, blue dress, noise, blood.

She would never see me grow up, never disapprove of my first boyfriend, never freak out as she taught me to drive, never be there to protect me from drunken bastards with knives. She'd never see me go to uni, graduate, fall in love.

It was true when I said that I had cried all the tears that I could ever cry when I was eight years old. Nothing spilled from my eyes when I recalled the cold fear and panic that shot me through when I was fourteen and alone, with nobody who cared or could see me or protect me. There was only pain. Goosebumps crawled to cover my arms and I felt a surge of heavy sadness in my chest.

_Wound up tight inside my heart/ are secrets, lies, and stormy past/ I think this pain was meant to last._

The bell rang. I numbly stood and grabbed my stuff. I walked through the halls on an autopilot I did not know I had, keeping my eyes to the floor. I spoke to no one. I did not trust my throat to work correctly nor did I wish to be disgusted by the pettiness of the throngs of humans surging around me.

I looked at my phone and saw the message and I felt a small twinge of disappointment. She couldn't meet me at lunch. I hadn't realized that I wanted to talk to her.

We spoke a little before maths, but it was not the time to unload my past on her.

"I don't want to see Mr. Drake right now. This is scaring me. My student teacher for computers is just like him; they're like, I don't know . . ."

"A spy?" I prompted.

"Yeah."

"Skip?" There was I time when I would have done that in the blink of an eye.

She shook her head vigorously. "No, I could never do that." Huh.

"Then act like you suspect nothing. I trust you, Alexa; you've got something else. You're seeing things I can't." Although she seemed paranoid, I could not help but notice the conviction with which she spoke. Whatever she felt, it was beyond me. Apparently her student teacher for computers was in it with Mr. Drake. When I looked at him I saw nothing out of the ordinary, except maybe the brightness of his adorable blue eyes.

I shivered a little at the chill in the room. It was even colder in this room than outside in the frigid New England "spring" weather. Why the hell would the air conditioning be on?

I shrugged the hood of my sweatshirt around my ears and sunk into my seat. This time the image of my father and his hands, teaching me how to ride a bike surfaced in my mind.

The class passed in a dull haze.

_Every smile takes energy/ a tall standard I must keep/ afraid that then my soul will weep._

I spent most of lunch in the library catching up on biology notes. Halfway through I headed back to the cafeteria to get something to eat and quickly finish up the history review sheet I had forgotten. A little bit before the end of the period Alexa appeared and sat down next to me. She seemed very distracted. In her hand was a manila folder. I said hello without looking up. There was not the time to have a serious talk.

The bell rang and I left for my next class: drawing and painting. I slung my bag under the table and began to get out my paints. I had finished and turned in the final piece for this unit so I was doing some independent painting. I was early so my teacher was not in yet. Other students began trickling in. The freshmen all sat at one bank of tables at the other side of the room and I sat with all the other upperclassmen. Tim entered wearing his baseball t-shirt, indicating he was playing a game later today. He was grimacing at his "interpretation" of a dream he had on the canvas board. It looked like a street with distorted houses on it. I say _distorted_ in the sense that he was not adept at the usage of linear perspective, not _distorted_ as in surrealism. He wasn't very good, but his effort was cute.

My painting was much more abstract. I didn't really want to show people what I dreamed about so I covered my board with looming dark shapes and angles with occasional flashes of violent orange. I turned it in with a vague statement about a sense of oppressive fear in my nightmares. What I was painting now seemed much lighter. My palette was cheery gold and pale green like the spring in New England and that dress I used to wear when I was little and happy.

I was sitting down and leaning back, studying my piece critically when a _substitute_ walked in. He did not look very much like an art teacher, though my normal teacher would have been disapproving that I would hold such judgments. I'm sorry, Mrs. Delora, but I just never picture art teachers looking like fucking _lumberjacks._

His face was tough and grim with enormous sideburns and dark brown hair that stuck back in slight devil horn shapes. (?) This man was not particularly tall, but looked as strong as an ox with a chest like a barrel and muscles like bowling balls that stretched the starchy fabric of his starchy white shirt and tie. (Which looked COMPLETELY out of place on him.) His sleeves were rolled back to reveal hairy, unscarred forearms. _Unscarred?_ _Why did I say unscarred? Why would I expect scars?_ Maybe because he looked totally badass. He didn't look like he could draw a straight line, let alone guide young talent to express their hopes and dreams through visual expression. Let me rephrase that: he looked like he would shove that straight line up the ass of anyone who thought he wasn't capable of it but he didn't give a shit about art.

He dropped his bag on the desk heavily. I mean loudly. He leaned/sat back on the edge of the desk and regarded the dumbstruck class coolly. He even crossed his muscular arms. "You can call me Mr. —," He appeared to consider it. What was there to consider? "Howlett. Mr. Howlett. Your teacher will be out for a little while. Family emergency or something plausible like that. She left me a schedule though. Apparently some of you are still finishing up the dream project? Yes? Good. Carry on." And that was that. At least for the rest of the class. He didn't even take attendance.

But he had other ideas for me. Of course. Mr. Howlett found me when I was treating my gold-and-green creation with a hair dryer so I could shove it in my portfolio without ruining it.

"Hope Dunningham?" Now how did he figure out which one I was?

I turned off the hairdryer with a little sigh and turned to Mr. Hairy. "Yes?"

"That's not the dream assignment is it?" Where was this going?

"Not while I was sleeping, no."

His grin was . . . sharp. Like a wolf. "You teacher said you always finish way ahead of the class. Since the deadline is still several days away, I would like to give you an additional, ungraded assignment for you to work. You know, just to see what you'll do." He shrugged. "Interested?"

I raised an eyebrow. "I suppose it depends on the assignment," I began, "what sort of assignment did you have in mind?"

He gave me another wolfy grin. "Paint yourself a secret and hide it in a painting. That's all. Run with it." He returned to his desk without another word. I watched as her pulled out a sleek black phone, clicked a button, and held it to his ear, and disappeared into the hall.

A secret, eh?

I had no intention of revealing secrets in a painting, but _hiding_ my secrets in a piece I was willing to do. I knew I could do it, but it would take some thought plus cleverness.

I pulled out my sketchbook and began brainstorming with a bit of charcoal.

Fifty-two minutes later, I was reviewing that idea with a critical eye. I lay in the nurse's office with a bag or ice on my throbbing head, waiting for my parents to take me home.

I hate Physical Education. With a burning passion.

I'm not out of shape or anything. I take a run almost every day. But I am notoriously uncoordinated. I don't do well with ball sports. You really want to hear the story? No? Too bad. It's kind of more important that you're thinking.

So as it turns out, Alexa had a free for whatever class and she showed up in my gym class. I think she had to make one up or something. Personally, I wouldn't have bothered but whatever. I was happy to see her. We couldn't talk much though, as she was busy being all sporty and darting around the indoor court with the rest of the jocks on the team. We were playing an awkward version of football (not the American kind) on the basketball court. I was hanging back near the goal, minding my own business on D when the ball came out of absolutely _nowhere_, propelled by the foot of some empty-headed jock boy.

The hard, overinflated projectile hit my shoulder hard, knocking backwards. I stumbled back a step before toppling backwards into the painted, cement-block wall. I slid to the ground in a daze. My vision blurred and little lights flashed. My pulse throbbed loud and hard in my temple and the back of my head felt like it was split open.

I tried to push myself unto an upright sitting position but I felt my head go tight and dizzy so I lay back down. Footsteps thumped over to me on the wooden floor. Ouch. Loud voices. I think I might have just groaned in response.

I lay there for a bit, waiting for my eyes to refocus on the heads crowded over me with concern. "Hey," I managed to say weakly. A smile cracked Alexa's face.

"C'mon." She held out a hand and I took it. She helped me to my feet. I stood for a moment, swaying, before I could climb a few rows up the bleachers and sit down. Someone gave me a bag of ice retrieved from the nurse.

The game resumed soon. Alexa made sure I was fine before rejoining them. The pain was receding the blinking lights almost gone from my vision.

So why did I end up in the nurse's office later? Just wait. You'll see.

At the end I stood up from where I sat and the blood rushed in my head (in? out? I don't know) and I felt very, very dizzy again. The world tilted towards me and my body connected with the very, very hard metal bleachers. My head felt like it was being split open once more. This time I cried out.

Alexa was at my side instantly and helped my sit up against the side of the base of the bleachers as more painful lights distorted my vision. The pain was intense and began to feel like it was burning down my spine. _Not good._ I thought dimly. I tried my normal trick for dealing with pain. I visualized a psychic bubble that surrounded the offending area, trapping it, containing it.

My stupid, fragile bubbles burst, letting the pain spill outward.

Alexa, kneeling in front of me, gasped and clutched at her head. Her blue eyes blinked and unfocused.

Oops.

"I think I should call my mom."

So THAT my friends, was how I came to be lying on the weird green, rubbery cot in the nurse's office. Alexa had left to hand a pass to her next teacher, but she would be back. I appreciated it. The nurse was very sympathetic and wrote out a _letter_ excusing Alexa from the first bit of English to help out an injured friend.

I was feeling much better now. I mean, my head still hurt, but my spine and whatever was fine. I was seeing straight and thinking hard no longer felt like brain splinters. And what I was thinking about was not very good. I had messed up, big-time.

I dreaded speaking to Alexa.

Oh and the poems were gone. It occurred to mean that maybe I had lost the ability to a concussion or something but that was silly. Maybe I was just going crazy earlier and the bleachers had just knocked some sense into me. Whatever.

Alexa was back. I sat up slowly. She sat down next to me. "Hope," She said slowly, as if she was beginning something important but was still trying to organize how she was going to say it. "In the gym, after you fell down the bleachers, did it feel like your head was split open?"

I nodded, terrified of where this was going. Ouch. Nodding hurt.

"Did you see little white sparks and like, some darkness around the edges?"

"Yeah?" I said it slowly, a question like 'where are you going with this?'

But I think I knew _exactly_ where she was going with this. She wasn't dumb.

"I felt it too."

"Oh?" I tried to looked confused.

"Hope? Did you . . . did you_ make _me feel that?"

"Feel what?" I blinked my gray-green eyes innocently. "_My_ headache?" Playing dumb: always worth a shot.

"Yeah." She said it so matter-of-factly. Like it was a perfectly valid, ordinary, normal question.

"How would I have done that? Hit you?"

She rolled her eyes. "You know what I mean."

"No I don't." I would have to make her say it.

Her eyes locked on mine now, hard, almost angry. "I told you my secret, Hope. It's time you opened yourself up a little. Tell me _now._ Are you or are you not a mutant?"


End file.
